


your voice means that everyone is okay.

by OpticalCrown



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Abuse, Angst, Emotional Abuse, Langst, M/M, Neglect, Physical Abuse, Self Harm, Sexual Abuse, abuse au, injury descriptions, just trying to cover my bases, shance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-12
Updated: 2018-05-20
Packaged: 2018-12-14 08:28:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 10
Words: 82,622
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11779281
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OpticalCrown/pseuds/OpticalCrown
Summary: In Lance's opinion it's been an iffy year, and it doesn't show any signs of getting better. With enough love and friendship though, maybe they'll all get out of it in one piece.Especially him.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by sir-scandalous's abuse au, this was supposed to be a ficlet that went way overboard.

Lance jumps out of his seat as he finds out what Allura’s been discussing with the top brass so far, including Iverson. It looks like the asshole got a promotion while they were gone.

“Cuba?! For real?! The Lions are gonna be staying in Cuba for now?!” he exclaims, slamming his hands on the table.

The others jump, and Shiro laughs and motions for Lance to sit back down. It’s been too long since he’s seen the Paladin this excited about anything, not for almost a year.

“That’s what it sounds like, anyways. We’ll have to live on the base, but what about you Lance? You home is close to Veradero, right?”

“My big sis Carmen works at the base too, just in a different part, and it’s only a short drive from home to here. I can commute with her!”

Lance smiles and pulls his knees up onto the chair.

“Man, I miss my little cousins. It’ll be great to see them again.”

“Sam and Max?”

“Whoa, you remember, Hunk? I swear I only talked about them, like, once!”

“You did talk about them once. For a whole week.”

“I remember too,” Pidge interjects, waving a limp arm in the air. “They’re what now? Six, seven?”

“Seven. They were five when we left.”

The three of them start talking, and Keith watches Lance fidget with excitement. In all those mental exercises, the image of Lance’s family never really vanished. It was a family photo, packed from side to side with people, the frame the same shape as one of those cheap digi-screens that everyone seemed to have in their dorms. To be surrounded by so many people, the thought makes him cross his arms and furrow his brow. Keith glances at everyone around him, the family he’s made while fighting a war for two years in space, and his expression softens.

“Your family’s really big, isn’t it?” he asks, leaning towards, towards Lance.

“Mm, kinda? There’s my uncle, my dad, my older sister, my big sis’s husband, my younger older sis’ and her boyfriend, my older brother, and finally my big sis’s kids. She and Alba were about to get their own apartment when we became Paladins though.”

Keith counts on his fingers, and his jaw drops.

“That’s nine people in a house!”

“It’s a real cozy house though,” Lance laughs.

“Your home’s an actual party, Lance,” Pidge groans. “That’s too many people, I’m sorry.”

“Wait, why don’t we visit?!” Hunk suggests.

He looks so happy that it almost breaks Lance’s heart to say no, and he makes a big ‘X’ with his arms.

“Sorry, no can do! Did you just hear Pidge? There’s honestly no space left for five more Paladins, a princess, and Coran.” His smile towards Hunk is apologetic though.

“Awww, Coran gets his own category.”

“Pidge. _Pidge_ ,” Lance says aghast, recoiling away as if he’s been horribly insulted. “Hell yeah Coran gets his own box.”

 

Iverson leads them to the hangar where the Lions are, and Lance swears the man shoots a withering glare at him for a moment before turning away. He bets not even Iverson’s worst nightmares could have prepared him for this. The dropout, the puker, the snarky genius, and the incompetent pilot becoming the saviors of the universe and crash landing back on earth on an outdated alien castle that was still light years beyond anything humans could do yet already had thrust the whole organization and the government into a bureaucratic mess. He has to give Iverson credit for not screaming and running out the door the moment he found out.

As they walk, the man clears his throat.

“This doesn’t apply to Lt. Shirogane, but for the cadets, you still need to finish your programs here. While the Lieutenant assists us with everyday research and maintenance for this… er… Voltron thing, you four will take classes as usual. Cadet Kogane’s issue is a bit more complicated, but if he thinks he’s up to par, we’ll have him taking the same classes as you all. We’ve graciously decided to exempt self-defense and simulations for obvious reasons, but at the Princess’s and Lieutenant’s insistence, all five of you will still be training together here on weekdays.”

Pidge and Lance both blanch at what they’ve just heard, while Hunk lowers his head in resignation. Keith stares ahead. His expression is emotionless, but his face is pale.

“Pardon me, sir, but are you _shitting_ me?” Pidge asks.

Lance snickers and covers his mouth as Pidge stares up with sheer venom in her eyes, while Keith doesn’t even bother hiding his huge, shit-eating grin. Shiro and Hunk are the only ones who seem shocked. Maybe in another life Lance would’ve tried to stopped her, but his patience with the Garrison ran out about six months ago.

Plus, it’s kinda hard to kick out the defenders of the goddamn _universe_ when the choice is all up _magical robot lions_.

“Not even an honorable degree or anything? Forreal?”

“Um, Sir,” Lance says, jumping in, “but I must agree. I’ve been shot at, blown up, thrown through interdimensional wormholes, forced to learn quantum mechanics on the fly – a whole buncha stuff. Not to mention Pidge and Hunk here combined probably know every single thing about alien programming and tech you could ever want to know. Also, isn’t that the least you could do after shuffling us around and interrogating us for the entire year?”

Iverson’s single-eyed death glare is so worth it, Lance thinks, watching a vein pulse in the aging man’s forehead. Titles don’t exist yet for universal saviors yet, but even Iverson isn’t vindictive enough to ignore the fact that right now, all of them probably unofficially outrank him as both protectors and intergalactic diplomats.

“Fine, I’ll see if I can find exceptions for _Holt_ and Garett, but only those two! Kogane and McClain don’t have any convenient excuses, I’m betting.”

Of course, the old bastard has to have the last word. Right on cue, Lance and Keith both bare their teeth in strained smiles as Iverson walks ahead with the other three. Pidge shrugs, and Hunk stares back sorrowfully back at Lance.

“C’mon you two,” Shiro says, patting them on the shoulder, “education is important. You guys need to re-learn how to survive back in, well, _society_ again.”

“We understand,” Keith sighs, “but that doesn’t mean I’ll enjoy it.”

“Do your best, Keith.”

Lance blinks a few times, his fingers twitching by his side.

“Shiro?”

He swings up his hand so that his fingertips are barely touching the back of Shiro’s hand, and the man pulls away. Lance has always seemed iffy around his prosthetic, even from the very beginning, from the moment he reached out to shake hands.

“Oh, sorry.”

Lance’s hands drop down as well.

“No, it’s not that. Just… don’t forget to do the same yourself, right? I mean, outta all of us, you’ve definitely had it bad. I hear there’s counselors on base and all that fun stuff – the fun being subjective, of course.” He adds that last part for Keith’s literal-minded benefit. He’s been to the services here a couple times himself, and while the counselor’s got their lips shut with Lance’s right to privacy, he’s also gotten _Hunk_ to swear forever secrecy, a miracle all in itself.

Shiro looks taken aback at what Lance has said, and Keith takes the chance to jump in, speaking quietly.

“That’s not a bad idea, Shiro. Now that we’re finally settled down, you really should do… something, I guess. Plus, when Lance is right, you know it’s gotta be serious.”

“Hey!”

Shiro looks between the two of them, and he can’t help but think again for the millionth time how grateful he is to have gotten the best teammates – no, the best _family_ in the universe. He laughs and ruffles their hair.

“I got it. I promise I’ll start seeing a counselor or psychiatrist. Whoever they say I should talk to.”

“Oh, promise that you’ll also try to relax too!” Lance adds. “And cut back on the paranoia too!”

At that Shiro frowns as little and steps back.

“I’m not that paranoid, Lance.”

Lance rolls his eyes and tiptoes to whisper something in Shiro’s ear.

“The knife says otherwise.”

Shiro stiffens as he becomes hyper-aware of the blade hidden along the lining of his vest, the flat strip of metal pressed into his side, snug inside a cover. As Lance settles back down, his face is as innocent as ever, and his voice is unchanged as he waves off Keith’s rapid fire questions. When did their easy-going sharpshooter become a hawk-eyed sniper?

“Why do you even need that?” Lance asks, blatantly ignoring one of Keith’s jabs before diving back into the verbal fray with his friend.

 _Because I want to protect all of you without drawing attention to my arm_ , Shiro thinks.

“Secret,” Shiro answers resolutely. “But I’ll remember to relax, and cut back on _worrying about you all_ ,” he answers jokingly, giving them small noogies before turning to catch up with the others. The two of them wait back, and Lance rolls back his shoulders and puts his hands on his hips. A confident posture is needed in these trying times, even if it’s not on his face.

“Keith, how much of our classes do you remember?”

“Do you want what’ll make you feel better, or the truth?”

There’s a long pause as Lance weighs the pros and cons of each option.

“Gimme the truth,” he asks, his voice cracking.

“Nothing.”

 “…Weren’t you a scholarship kid?”

“For piloting,” Keith says, ignoring the dead-eyed look that Lance currently has. The two of them can’t even be bothered to act surprised.

Lance always did wonder what other corners the Garrison had to cut if they just casually overlooked Keith’s default “I-hate-everyone-don’t-talk-to-me-I’m-only-good-at-teamwork-with-people-I-respect-and-like” personality. Now he knows.

…It’s a testament to Keith’s amazing piloting skills, if nothing else.

 “You’re gonna owe me so fucking much after my _academic_ scholarship ass saves us both. We _both_ know Shiro’s gonna have no free time and Pidge and Hunk will just vanish forever into R &D.”

“You’ll have to kill me first before I get us anything more than just food and caffeine during study sessions.”

“Weekly study sessions it is.”

“Scratch that. Every other week.”

“Good enough.”

“Deal?” Keith asks, holding up a fist.

“Deal,” Lance mutters back, and the two discreetly bump fists.

They walk through just as the door hisses open, and Lance can’t help but sigh the wonderful sight. Their Lions are all at rest, but no one can deny the feeling of strength floating through the air. The others are already all talking and touching their Lions, walking all around them, and Lance’s entire expression lights up. A laugh slips past his lips and he rushes ahead, more and more laughter bubbling from his lips, Keith not far behind. Shiro steps aside just in time to avoid a collision, and it’s as if Lance flies past him.

 “Hey Beautiful! Hey Gorgeous!” Lance calls at Blue and Red. “You two miss us both?”

“Is it really that big of a deal?” Iverson asks.

“Yes,” Shiro answers, watching them all coo and talk to their Lions. “This may be hard for an outsider to understand, but those Lions are alive, with some sort of consciousness. They aren’t just tools, Sir. They’re sometimes our best friends as well. It wouldn’t be an understatement to call that bond ‘love’.”

Iverson bristles at the word ‘outsider’, but he crosses his arms and refrains from something too biting.

“Is that so?”

Shiro laughs, and his eyes drift to Lance, who seems so awfully conflicted over whether to glue himself to Red or Blue if he ever got the chance.

“I know I sound crazy, but don’t worry. The whole world’s about to get a lot crazier all together.”

 

Lance helps everyone move their meager belongings into dorms, and he and Hunk both joke and chat as they unpack, as if they were both freshman again.

“Do you think we should get a mini-fridge?” he asks, and Hunk puffs up and crosses his arms.

“Come on man! Where else am I gonna put the leftovers?”

They burst into quiet snickers, and Lance looks all around at the white paint and burnished metal.

“It really does look like the singles back in California. You’d think they’d try to put a little more variety into all the bases.”

“Space military.” Hunk says, rolling his eyes. “What can ya’ do?”

“Nothing. Not until _launch_ is over.”

The pun is painfully bad and lacking, enough to kill Hunk. He groans, takes a breath, then groans some more, and with all the theatrics he can muster, he flops over his desk and pretends to die.

“Dude, noooooo. You can do better!”

“I’m sorry, my bestest friend in the whole universe, but that’s what you gotta deal with for now. I need to replenish my stock of puns now that we’re back on earth. The universe is surprisingly low on them.”

“Well, granted that’s what happens when it’s been taken over by a paranoid emperor.”

“Touche.”

“What’s up coming in!” Pidge calls as she knocks on the doorframe and waltzes in.

“Oh, what’s up Pidge?” Hunk asks.

Privacy becomes a little less important after you’ve lived with the same seven people and have stared death in the face with them for a year or two.

“Yo Hunk. Lance, I need your freakishly lanky limbs for a sec.”

“See ya man, duty calls for my freakishly long limbs.”

“See ya.”

Pidge hands him some cables in her room, then instantly sets him to work making all the right connections. Lance is sprawled over her desk, groaning as he tries to twist around and grab another cord.

She sits on the desk and laughs, shining down her penlight to help Lance out.

“Almost there, almost there!”

“Ughhhh, got it!”

“Alright, next is the green one with white stripes.”

“Gotchas.”

As she supervises Lance, she suddenly gasps and nearly drops the light.

“Lance!”

“Huh, what?!” he yells, screaming as his pinches his stomach.

“The space mall!”

Like lightning Lance shimmies out from between the wall and the table.

“Holy shit. We’re back on earth,” he whispers.

“With actual screens and not holograms.”

Lance’s eyes narrow.

“Are you gonna say what I think you’re gonna say?”

Pidge’s eyes flash, and she drops her voice to a low and serious tone.

“You bet.”

The two of them stare intensely, then nod.

“GAME NIGHT! GAME NIGHT GAME NIGHT GAME NIGHT GAME NIGHT GAME NIIIIIGHT!”

“GAME NIGHT! GAME NIGHT GAME NIGHT GAME NIGHT GAME NIGHT GAME NIIIIIGHT!”

Their loud cheering makes a few recruits and staff stop and stare, wondering why two Defenders of the Universe are screaming and dancing about in a bare-bones room.

By the time he’s done saying goodbye and starting to walk home, the sun’s setting. Everything he was allowed to bring back are right now is in the backpack on his back and the duffel bag he’s carrying. Warm, humid air makes him sweat, but the ocean brings in a nice breeze that ruffles his oily hair. It won’t be long before the summer parties get loud and noisy. The soles of his boots have been worn down as slick as glass, and the elbows and knees of his outfit are worn with holes, but still, he can’t push down the happiness he feels bubbling up as he sees the waves and the orange sun falling down like a disc of topaz.

Heaven is right here, right now, in this moment.

If he tries really hard, he can resist the urge to run back to the base, screaming, crying, _begging_ to stay there instead.

But that would look strange.

He hums under his breath and counts the cracks in the sidewalk, until he notices that he’s not moving. Tears sting his eyes and the whole world blurs into a mess of golden colors, brightly illuminating everything in the world but nothing about what he feels. With a soft cry he slumps to his knees and sobs. His body shudders with the movement, and the sweat dries and cools on his body, but he can’t bring himself to stop until the golden glow in his eyes has turned pale and light. He pulls himself up, sniffling and wiping snot from his face.

The moon is rising up into the sky, big and golden.

Lance coughs and hiccups, grounding himself in the constant that is the moon. Now that he’s back on earth again, he has his old anchors again. Waves, moonlight, and two giggling kids.

It’s the hardest mile he’s ever walked before, but he drags those boots with slicked down soles along the concrete. Drags them all the way to cracked asphalt and the scent of soil and flowers. There’s lights on upstairs, but the downstairs is dark, and with a flat, harsh laugh, he ambles up the porch and rings the doorbell.

There’s the sound of running, and the door silently rings open to reveal…

Nothing?

Lance makes a confused noise, then steps out into the unlit foyer. TV Static rattles in the background, and for a moment, he wonders if he’s gone to the wrong house.

“H-hello? Anyone?” he whispers hoarsely. He takes another step in.

Take away the lights upstairs and this place would be the best haunted house ever, in his opinion. His breathing quickens, and his eyes sweep from side to side, growing more and more careless. He doesn’t know what’s happening, but the fact that _something is happening_ puts him on edge. He can’t prepare for what he doesn’t know, and he looks back towards the door. It’s still open. He can’t take a deep breath right now, but Lance tries, and he shifts his body towards his escape route. He can hear soft footsteps, and he glares into the darkness, trying to interpret the figures that he sees.

“Surprise!”

“Surprise!”

Lance screams and lunges for the light switch, flipping it on just in time to see a girl and boy tackle him to the ground. Without even hesitating, they begin to tickle him, and he rolls around, trying to escape while laughing like a banshee.

“Uncle, uncle!” he screeches with laughter.

“Meanie Lance!” the girl shouts.

“You made us wait all day!” her brother snaps, going for Lance’s ribs.

“I’m sorrrrry!”

The two back off, and Lance sits up, clutching at his stomach.

“Did you guys hide behind the door?!”

“Duh! You’re the one that taught us that!” Max yells, tugging at her pigtails.

“How was space? What kinda aliens were there?” Sam asks, crawling in.

“Ahem. There were lots of gorgeous aliens-,” the twins groan, “-and I saved the _universe_!”

The two of them stare up with big eyes, and oohing and ahhing.

“Tell us all about it, okay, uncle? You called us, and I thought I was dreaming!”

“Yeah. I remember you hanging up on me, Sam, that’s for sure.”

“Sorry!”

“Nevermind, have you guys eaten yet?”

“We ate at during camp today!”

“That doesn’t count, Max. Cool then. Can you guys take my stuff upstairs to my room? I’ll make something for you guys in the meantime.”

Max and Sam both fidget.

“Ummm…”

“Uhhh…”

“Max? Sam? What’s up, kiddies?” Lance asks, concern in his voice.

“Tom took over your room, so it’s full of his stuff now.”

“What?”

Sam’s pouting, and he fidgets, nodding once towards Max to cue her.

“We wanted to stop him, but he said you were probably gone forever. Since a person can’t breathe in space and your ship exploded.”

“…Oh.”

“Just share our room!” she says, tugging on Lance’s arm. “Pleeeeease?”

Her chocolate colored eyes sparkle, and Lance laughs.

“Okay, okay! You know I can’t say no. Besides, I’d rather stay with you guys than sleep on the couch.”

“Yay! We got uncle!” she cheers, high-fiving Sam, whose tears have mysteriously dried up.

“All right, bring this stuff up. I’ll make a surprise in the fridge.”

“Kay-kay!”

“Gotcha.”

Sam and Max each grab a strap on both his backpack and the duffel, and with perfect teamwork they rush up the stairs. It’s like they never changed. Static still sounds in the back, and he creeps over to the living room. His dad is sitting there, a glass in his hands, the amber liquid inside sickly refracting the colors on the screen.

“Dad, I’m back,” he calls softly. The man ignores him, and Lance turns on the lights.

“It’s not good to watch TV in the dark, alright? Do you still have work tomorrow?”

That elicits a noise from his father, and it’s a satisfactory answer for Lance.

“I’m gonna go make something for Max and Sam. If you want anything, just holler.”

His father doesn’t seem better or worse. He also hasn’t changed, and the fact makes Lance’s heart a little heavy. He let himself be a little selfish, lied to himself and said that his dad would be ecstatic about him coming back, but all he got was the usual.

“Shouldn’t have expected much.”

He’s tired, but he’s also hungry, and the kids need to eat too. He opens the fridge and analyzes the contents, before digging through the pantry.

“Hm, pasta it is.”

While the water starts boiling, he searches around for a piece of paper and starts making a grocery list for the weekend, mulling over if he can convince Keith to give him a ride on his hoverbike, and maybe stick around long enough for him to go shopping for new clothes too.

Lance pauses with a handful of pasta.

Keith doesn’t have the patience for something as mindless as shopping. As he thinks, the water bubbles, and Lance nearly slaps off the pot lid trying to get it off in time and drop in the pasta. The water dies down as the long strands fall in, calming the water. Next is all the garlic and the parsley. His fingers tremble as he peels the cloves and strips the leaves off the parsley.

“Pidge, when are we gonna have out game night?” he grumbles to himself, digging his nail into an especially stubborn clove. As he cuts the herbs and garlic, he remembers why he begged Hunk to teach him this four-ingredient recipe. You can make some seriously yummy food with the dying fridge of a student. He can lose his mind in games and cooking. When the cloves and leaves are neatly piled on the cutting board in front of him, he goes to turn off the burner. Silence fills the kitchen, and right at the that moment he hears the faint click of the door lock.

A shock runs through his body, paralyzing his limbs and wiping his mind all at the same time. He feels nothing but his hands grip at the handles of the pot, his breathing nonexistent. Their old door creaks open, followed by heels tapping on the wood and his mind begins to fluctuate between filling with fuzzy static and being wiped clean, all while he tries to follow some frayed thread of logic to figure out whose heels those are.

“Lance?”

In that single moment, the terror is purged from him and Lance’s chest swells instead. With step-by-step movements, he pries his hands off the pot, leans back, and faces the entryway, his actions gaining more and more speed my the second, even if they can’t be smoothly connected yet.

“Carmen!” he yells, running out into the foyer. The woman’s eyes bug out behind her glasses, and she drops everything she’s holding.

“Lance!”

She sweeps him up into a crushing hug, and Lance smiles and leans into the embrace. He can’t remember the last time someone hugged so tightly like this first.

“Lance, oh my gosh I missed you!” she whispers, tears beading up in her eyes.

“Sis, no, don’t cry! You’ll mess up your makeup!”

She laughs and puts him down.

“I saw a little of the Lions. I can’t believe it; you were piloting _that_?!”

“Haha! The red one, to be exact.”

“Oh my gosh, that’s amazing. Wait! Maxine! Sam! They haven’t had dinner yet!”

“Calm down, I’m making some pasta right now! You can be the taste-tester before I get some for them.”

“Lifesaver as usual.”

Lance gets back to work, and Carmen settles down at the kitchen table, fussing over her files and her phone.

“So, how’re things with Alba? I thought you guys were gonna move out?” he probes, cutting the cloves into thin slices.

“We divorced.”

Lance brings down the knife sharply, making the cutting board ring with a hollow sound.

“Oh. I thought he was a cool guy though.”

“He started drinking.”

They both glance up for a second at the living room. Carmen looks away first to continue her story, but Lance’s gaze lingers a little longer.

“He took your MIA pretty hard, Lance. Started with beer then moved to the harder stuff,” she says, noticing Lance’s silence. “Don’t be sorry. When times are hard, you see a person’s true colors. Those were his, I guess. He’s in therapy now, but if you want I can give you his number.”

“… Thanks. I appreciate that.”

Suddenly, everything seems like too much work. Cutting everything, putting everything into a pan – it’s all too much. He can’t let the kids starve though, so he pushes ahead, even while the knife suddenly feels like a million pounds.

“Oh, that’s right! Carmen!”

He turns around to face her.

“I need to go to the base everyday, so I was wondering if I could hitch a ride with you?”

Carmen’s eyes widen, and she looks away.

“I’m sorry but… I can’t.”

“What?”

She musters a little courage to at least face his direction, heming and hawing the whole time.

“It’s just that, with Faudran-”

“It’s ‘Voltron’.”

“With Voltron, we’ve been especially busy at the base. I’ve been working overtime, but that’s also because I want to save up money again for a new home. The divorce really cut into our savings you know. I go in really early, leave really late, and I do the same on Saturdays too now. On top of that, I want the kids outside of the house a-and active, so I signed them up for a summer camp at the nearby school. So far I’ve had drop them off really early and alone, and it kills all my remaining free time packing lunches and making dinner that…”

Carmen trails off, looking nervously at Lance.

“I know you just came back, and I’m just springing this on you but-!”

Lance holds up a hand with a tired smile.

“It’s fine, I get it. Is my bike still here? I can walk them over in the morning then bike over to the base.”

Carmen squeals with laughter and pulls Lance into another hug that makes warmth flood his body.

“Ahhh, I love you Lance! You’re amazing! Yeah, your bike’s just fine! We were planning on saving it for Sam and Max, but it’s technically yours!”

“Mmn, I love you too, sis! Oh, the pasta, the pasta! Carmen, is Anna still with Damien?” he asks, beginning to heat up what’s maybe too much oil in a pan.

“Yeah. Nowadays it’s like they’re hardly in the house though. She’s either out and about with him or staying at his place.”

“Pretty sure she definitely won’t be back tonight then.”

“Don’t say that. I’m sure she actually wanted to see you.”

“Hah, you’re right, you’re right. Tom?”

“He does his own stuff nowadays. I can’t keep track.”

“Gotchas,” Lance says. He begins to sauté everything together in the pan, but even the delicious smells coming from it aren’t making him feel better right now. “Um, Uncle Connor?”

“He works late, but he’s always back by twelve.”

“Thanks for telling me. Food’s done. I’ll take these up to Sam and Max, aaaaaaaand,” he plops a plate down in front of Carmen.

“This is yours!”

“Thanks. I’ll wash my plate when I’m done, then I’m gonna go to sleep. Tell them about you dropping them off, and that I said good night, will you?”

“I got it.”

Lance heads upstairs, leaving Carmen down below and talking to Sam and Max until his throat is sore.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He didn't die, and that's all that matters.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Part two of this ficlet gone overboard.

The alarm on Lance’s phone blares, and he crawls up, groaning. Sam and Max are still trying to hide away in their bed, but Lance crawls to the window, reaching out for the blind cords like a dying man trying to grab at a drop of water.

“Rise and shine kiddies!” he yells hoarsely, flinging open the blinds. Light stabs him in the eyeballs, and he screams and collapses to the ground, rolling about with his hands over his eyes like Sam and Max. He washes up while they get dressed, and then leads the sleepyheads to the bathroom. Satisfied that they’re awake enough to brush their teeth and wash their face, he stumbles downstairs to make breakfast. Carmen and his dad are both gone, with the plates in the sink to prove it.

Breakfast is burned into Lance’s mind like muscle memory, and he gets to work chopping up some spare veggies and seasoning some beaten eggs to turn into omelets, making sure to taste-test one of them once he’s done. Max like orange juice and Sam like milk, and it’s only while packing leftover pasta for the two that he prays they both still like milk and orange juice.

“Oh, Carmen did say you were coming back last night.”

Lance’s hands spasm, and he nearly knocks over an entire thing of leftovers, spinning around to face Connor while looking to side to side.

“U-uncle Connor! Hah, how’s dad?” he asks, injecting some cheer into his voice. He keeps his smile plastered to his face, never letting his eyes lose track of the man walking to the fridge.

“Annoying. He won’t stop talking about you.”

Without a sign, Connor slams a fist into Lance’s solar plexus, and Lance drops, gagging and coughing.

“Damn, so what they say is true. Being all up in space makes your muscles and bones all weak,” Connor says to himself, as if he’s looking at a mildly interesting specimen. The man grabs Sam’s lunch, and Lance grits his teeth and sits up, clearing his throat.

“Wait,” he wheezes out through his teeth. “Just take my breakfast. That’s… Gah… That’s Sam’s lunch.”

That seems to actually put Connor at pause, and he does as Lance asks, grabbing a plate off the table instead and leaving without saying another word.

Oddly enough, the nausea isn’t there. Just pain, and by now Lance can deal with that like a champ.

“Uncle?”

“Lance?”

Lance’s blood runs cold, and he hides his unease with a smile.

“Oh, you guys are done! Hurry up and eat breakfast!” He peeks at the clock with exaggerated urgency. “We gotta get going soon!”

The two share a look, then sit down and begin to eat. Max speaks up first.

“Lance, are you okay?”

He quickly goes to hug and reassure them.

“Trust me, I’m fine! Space was way scarier. Eat and get your bags ready, okay? Lunch is on the counter.”

“Okay.”

“You’re awesome, Max. You too, Sam!”

Lance distracts the kids with stories and asks them to tell what they’re doing today, ooh-ing and ahh-ing the whole time as he rolls his bike alongside them. They don’t rush or argue – just walk. At the school where Lance drops them off it’s only 7:30, and he still has half-an-hour to get to the base.

It’s been actual years since he last rode a bike, but like magic, once he starts pedaling, it all comes back. He barely touches the brakes and flies along at a breakneck pace, letting the cool morning air give his pedaling an extra kick, just for today. Thank god today’s already Friday. He can get groceries and new clothes tomorrow, after studying with Keith, maybe play with the kids again, and all sorts of other things. He just needs excuses to stay outside of that house-

Sunlight flashes in his eyes, and his body slams into the asphalt, shoulder first.

Pain rolls out from that point like a tidal wave, keeping him incapacitated on the ground, flowing with his blood, but he crawls up soon enough, checking over his body. A few slack-jawed bystanders help him onto the sidewalk off the bike lane, and he can only mumble some hazy ‘thanks’ to the strangers. His body moves well enough, and he’s grateful to realize the worst of it all are just some scrapes and bruises.

“Kid, I think someone cut your chain,” a man says faintly in the distance.

Lance mumbles something incoherent, then shakes his head a few times.

“What.. What do you mean?”

The man’s voice grows louder, and he moves to stand closer to Lance.

“I see grooves in the chains, like someone weakened it on purpose.”

Lance is at a loss for words, but then he yelps and scrambles for his phone. Luckily, there’s only a tiny chip on the side in the glass. It’s the time that’s the bigger issue.

“Oh my god! I only have ten minutes left!”

“Kid, relax, there’s my truck. I can give you a ride, so tell me where you need to go.”

Lance’s eyes widen at the man, and he stutters and mumbles a few times before he can get out something that the man understands.

“The Garrison base.”

“No problem! I got you!”

Lance’s confusion turns into shock, and his jaw drops as the stranger tosses his bike into the back.

“C’mon, hurry up!” he yells as Lance clambers into the back, his limbs moving on autopilot.

“Th… Thanks.”

“It’s no big deal. Anybody would do that if they saw that fall of yours!”

The man steps on the gas, and Lance falls onto his butt, his face turning bright red. He can feel his chest go all bubbly, and he laughs, despite blooding oozing through his skin. They hit the base in five minutes, and Lance almost wastes his precious time left apologizing and thanking the driver, before the man shoos him off. A minute is lost locking his bike and fumbling for his pass in his bag to show the guard and scan at the door. He shoves his things inside one of the lockers in the changing room, spins his combination lock, then stumbles into the gym breathing hard, a minute to spare.

“I’m here! I’m here!”

Dead silence meets him, and Lance looks up in confusion. There’s Shiro, Hunk, Pidge, and Keith, all dressed and ready for training, so he knows he’s in the right place, so why aren’t they saying anything?

“You’re hurt!” Shiro yells, rushing in to grab at one of Lance’s hands. Lance screeches and trips back, but Shiro catches him and pulls him back up.

“Shiro what the hell?!” he snaps.

“Why’re you covered in scratches? How did this happen? Are you alright?”

“Huh?”

Hunk creeps up next to Shiro, and he winces so hard Lance is surprised that Hunk hasn’t given himself permanent wrinkles.

“Dude. That’s bad.”

“What’s bad?”

“Like… _Everything_ ,” he says, with a mixture of both awe and horror in his voice. With his eyes, he asks, _how the hell did you fuck yourself up this badly?_

“Lemme see,” Keith asks, pushing past the two, but Lance notices Keith flinch while examining all the scrapes. Keith tugs at Lance’s collar to reveal his shoulder, and it peels off, sticky with blood. It’s already becoming discolored with bruising, turning sickly shades of yellow and purple.

“Have you cleaned any of these yet?”

“Uh, no.”

“… Great.”

Pidge is looking at the blood running down in little rivulets all over Lance’s legs and arms, and she takes a deep breath.

“Holy fuck. I’m gonna go get a medic.”

“No, it’s not that bad,” Lance starts, but her glare cuts him off.

“Then at least a first-aid kit!” she yells, running off. Lance tries to go after her, but Shiro’s having none of that.

“Lance, just sit down,” he sighs, helping Lance to a bench as if his legs were broken, not just scratched. The gentle hand hold is blissfully unfamiliar, and Lance feels his face flush at the kind touch. This is definitely one of the benefits of getting flung off a bike.

“What happened?”

“My bike chain snapped.”

 “You tell me to relax, but then come back a mess after being at home for one day,” Shiro sighs, trying to joke, but the smile doesn’t reach his eyes. “At this rate I’m gonna be paranoid forever.”

“Oh come on! That’s so bad for you!” Lance pouts.

“Still healthier than crashing a bike,” Hunk jumps in.

Lance stares deeply at his best friend, making sure his eyes look as serious as possible.

“Hunk, you and I both know that I’ve been through way worse.”

“Lance, a trip to the ER because you accidentally swallowed needles trying to do a magic trick don’t count.”

“But I’m not in the hospital right now, so there!”

Shiro looks at Lance in horror, glancing up at Hunk as if truth will magically change, but all Hunk does is nod slightly to confirm.

“Enter third grade Lance, who decides that he’s the next Houdini. He enters the school talent show and manages to-”

“Hunk, _no_!” Lance pleads, all as Shiro listens in, enraptured with horrified fascination.

“Story time’s over! It’s time for the doctor Paladins to work their magic!” Pidge yells, descending down upon the little group, saving Lance.

“Also, tell me the rest of that story later, Hunk.”

Nevermind.

“Sure! But none of us have ever been to med school?” Hunk questions with some confusion.

“Yeah, but what we _do_ have is our combined encyclopedic knowledge. And Keith,” she adds as an afterthought.

Lance frowns and tilts his head in confusion.

“’And Keith’?”

“The problem child who’s been throwing punches ever since he was but a wee lad.”

“Ohhhhhhh.”

“Ohhhhhhh.”

“Ohhhhhhh.”

“Hey!”

The four of them start fussing over Lance, despite his protests, laughing as he nearly screams from the antiseptic. Lance is blinking tears out of his eyes, and he tries to talk despite his rapidly twitching eye.

“Uh, before- oh fuck! That hurts!”

“Lance, language.”

“Fuck, fuck, fuck!” he yelps as Keith sprays antiseptic all over Lance’s shoulder.

“Let the poor man suffer in peace, Shiro,” Pidge says. Her face is a picture of complete seriousness, as she strives to keep her composure even as Lance writhes around like a breakdancing snake.

“Hold still!” Keith snaps.

“I’m trying!”

“Try harder!”

“Dammit! Anyways, ow! Keith, can you give me a ride on Saturday, after our study session? I need to get some more clothes, a new chain for my bike, plus groceries.”

Keith freezes, and his face turns red and clearly upset. With a pout, he mutters something quietly under his breath. The others all stand in silent solidarity with Keith.

“They took it back.”

Shock ripples through Lance, and he stares at Keith with all the wide-eyed shock he can currently muster, despite his whole body feeling like it’s one huge papercut.

“But you had that hoverbike ultra-customized!”

“It was originally Garrison property to begin with.”

“You _stole_ that shit?!” Lance screams, his eyes bugging out.

“That’s why we let them take it back,” Shiro explains. He sheepishly rubs at his scar.

Lance purses his lips, taking a moment to process it all.

“Damn Keith. You had no chill three years ago.”

The others burst into laughter, but Keith merely begins cleaning Lance’s wounds with renewed vigor, making him yelp even and wriggle around even more.

“If you don’t mind,” Shiro says, “I can give you ride home today, and I’ll stay with you tomorrow after you’re both done studying.”

Lance stares up in shock, his mouth wide open. Shiro’s unsure of how to react, so he decides to smile, and Lance can suddenly feel his heart thumping at a million miles an hour as it tries to run out of his throat. He nods dumbly, hoping he can blame the heat in his face on all the bleeding he’s doing.

Training goes by fast enough, and he can feel his head hurt during classes, but soon he’s sitting on a bench outside the base, hypnotizing himself by watching the passing cars and setting sun. His backpack hangs loosely from his shoulders, the straps slung half down his arms as boredom settles comfortably in Lance’s head.

Shopping with Shiro on Saturday. Would that count as a date?

Lance grumbles and folds his arms. He’s the one with a crush, so he’s totally cool calling it a date, but at this point they’re all like little siblings to Shiro.

Lance gasps in horror.

Is he gonna get sibling-zoned?

“But there are benefits to the sibling-zone,” Lance mutters to himself, trying to encourage himself, “like hugs, maybe kisses?”

“Sorry for making you wait!” Shiro calls, tapping Lance on the shoulder. Lance startles awake with a squeak, looking at Shiro with wide eyes.

“You okay?”

Lance nods and jumps to his feet, hand on chest.

“Alright, let’s go pick up the kids first.”

The sentence makes sense to Shiro in theory, but his head is running in circles.

“You have… kids?”

Lance’s face turns pale with horror, and he shakes his head and stutters with outstretched arms.

“No, no! They’re my sis Carmen’s kids! She’s busy right now, so I offered to pick them up from their summer activities once I was out! Um, do you mind?” Lance asks, fidgeting and looking up from under his lashes. The action makes Shiro grip his arm, and he stiffens up, nodding.

“No, I don’t mind at all. I told you I’d give you a ride, and that included picking up your niece and nephew, right?”

“Man, you’re the best Shiro! Oh, and don’t worry about your arm,” he says, pointing a finger at the whole thing, “I betcha they’re both gonna think it’s the coolest thing ever.”

“You don’t say,” Shiro says, loosening his body and listening to Lance talk as they walk to the parking lot. He’s gotten used to the constant background noise of Lance’s bantering – as long as Lance is still talking, that means that everyone’s still okay.

Lance’s voice is safety.

His chatter keeps going on, but he shuts up so fast once he sees Shiro’s car that Shiro wonders if Lance has just hurt himself. Lance stares at the car’s sleek, black body, with a suspension hung low to the ground. It’s the exact opposite of the sensible, practical car he thought Shiro’s dad senses would have stuck with. Hell, he wouldn’t even have been surprised by a minivan.

“Um, here, you can put your bike in the trunk.”

Shiro opens the trunk, his face red. When Lance shoves in his bike, he presses his lips together so tightly they go pale, his cheeks puffing up with the laughter he’s trying to hold back. A good portion of it is taken up by a sound system.

Lance settles down into the passenger seat, and just like the rest of this over-the-top car, the upholstery is very nice. A moment of silence passes, as they both sit there, Shiro wondering if he should wait for Lance to say something, while Lance is still trying to process the car.

“I was young and dumb, alright?”

Lance explodes with laughter, kicking his feet (but making sure to not scuff the car) and curling in with loud, raucous laughter. The tears are beading in the corner of his eyes, and whenever he tries to talk, he gasps at Shiro, shakes with some more disbelief, and dissolves into a whole new mess of overblown screeching.

He finally pulls himself together, wiping at the tears in his eyes, taking a whole minute to catch his breath.

“Shiro. Keith getting so angsty that he got expelled and stole a hoverbike to go live in a shack in the middle of the desert to make a wall of crazy triangulating alien mind sonar is young and dumb. This is just _hilarious_.”

“You’re never going to let him live that down, will you?”

“Yep, and you’re never going to live this down either. Selfie!”

Shiro doesn’t even try to smile well, and he does the bare minimum of showing his teeth as Lance leans back onto his shoulder. Lance fidgets a little, trying to find the best angle to catch as much of the car as he can. Shiro just resists the urge to hold and steady the boy.

“Got it! Yep, this is going on the groupchat.”

“Groupchat?!”

This is the first Shiro’s ever heard of it, and he can’t help but feel a little excluded.

“Well, I mean, we need _somewhere_ to talk without adult supervision.”

“Keith’s twenty going on twenty-one for god’s sake.”

“And Pidge is seventeen.”

“Well I’m technically seven!”

“Shiro, it’s not gonna work. Hunk calls you _‘space dad’_.

Shiro starts up the car, trying hard not to turn red as he hears Lance’s phone ding and the boy desperately try not to break down _again_ next to Shiro.

“Lance!”

“Uncle!”

Max and Sam rush into Lance’s arms, carrying their arts and crafts for today.

“Wait, uncle, why’re you hurt?” Sam asks, darting around to look at Lance’s scratches.

“Oh no, he got one on his face!”

Max looks horrorstruck, poking the bandage on Lance’s cheekbone, then glares at Shiro.

“Lance, who’s this? Did he hurt you? Where’s your bike?”

Sam sticks close to Lance, peeking out from behind. For such sleepy-eyed stares, Shiro can feel their eyes piercing into him, judging heavily. Without thinking he rubs at his scar and musses with the white in his hair.

“That’s a cool arm,” Sam says, speaking up. He doesn’t budge, but Shiro’s hoping that mean’s he gotten the nephew seal-of-approval.

“Um, thanks. It’s alien tech.”

Holy shit how does someone talk to little kids? Maybe Lance notices him panicking, or maybe he’s just decided to let him stew in this anxiety for a little humor, but his teammate finally throws him a bone.

“Max, Sam, this is Shiro! He’s our awesome, cool leader who helped up save the universe! My bike chain broke this morning and I ate dirt, so he’s going to give us a ride home. Say hello please.”

Max bites the bullet and goes first, digging through her bag as she walks up to Shiro.

“Thank you very much for driving us home, Mr. Shiro. My name is Max. You want a lollipop?” she says, extending a stick with a half-melted glob of blue sugar. The entire thing is only held in place with its plastic wrapper.

“It’s nice to meet you, Max. You don’t mind me taking that?”

“Nah, it’s fine. Here you go.”

“Thank you.”

Shiro’s about to reach out with his right, then remembers and takes the candy with his left.

“Did that hurt?” she asks, pointing to it. The sheer bluntness throws Shiro off, and he faintly notices Lance in the back looking equally shocked.

“It hurt a lot, but in the end I was able to keep a lot of people safe with it, including your uncle. So… I guess it was worth it,” he answers, glancing up at Lance, who’s currently almost bending over backwards to face Sam and coax him out. Max looks up at Shiro, her eyes big and sparkling.

“Wow, that’s so cool! You kept Lance safe!”

With that, Lance finally manages to convince Sam as well. He runs up and holds out a hand.

“Hello Mr. Shiro, I’m Sam McClain,” with way more maturity than Shiro expects.

“Y-yes, it’s nice to meet you too.”

Shiro swallows his hesitation to shake Sam’s hand with his metal one, and Sam’s eyes glow.

“Whoa, it really is metal! It feels all cold! Does it make any weird sounds? How does it move?”

Sam starts shooting the questions one after another, the entire time refusing to let go of Shiro’s hand as he begins to turn it over and move it from side to side, testing the joints, leaving Shiro almost dazed.

“Oh! Well, it’s pretty quiet, the nerves in my arm leading to my brain are connected to the microchips in the arm, the metal is something that doesn’t exist on Earth, and it’s powered by my own body.”

“That’s _so_ cool.”

“Uh, guys? Shiro still needs to drive us back,” Lance says in the middle of taking more pictures, “so you should probably all pile in.”

“Goooot it.”

“Goooot it.”

Shiro watches, slight pain in his eyes as Lance’s phone starts ringing with notifications again.

“The groupchat?”

“Mmhm. Hunk says you did a pretty good job dealing with Sam and Max for the first time. He had a videochat with them two years ago and they were a handful for him even back then.”

“At five? You have some pretty amazing cousins there.”

“Don’t I?”

Lance looks so proud, even as he loses to Max in rock-paper-scissors and lets her have shotgun.

“Lance, when are you gonna get your license?” Sam asks, watching Lance scrunch up his long legs in the back.”

“Shush, I’m working on it!”

The drive to the place is filled with light banter, and Max pointing out turns yards before Shiro needs to slam the breaks and make a few illegal lane changes.

“See ya, Shiro! Guys, say bye!”

“Bye Shiroooo!”

“Bye-bye!”

Shiro waves back, waiting until he sees them both go inside before driving off. The night sky and the lights seem almost blurred until he’s back at the base and parks the car. He doesn’t leave it, silently sitting inside, before scrambling for his phone for dear life to text Matt.

 

Inside the garage is hot and humid, and Lance sits in an old tank top that’s fraying at all the hems, frowning at his bike. The chain has mangled the spokes of his front wheel, but he can probably save it. As he mills about the garage for the right tools, the door opens. Lance jerks away from the noise, pressing himself into the wall.

“Hey lil’bro! You’re back!” Tom laughs, carrying a hand saw. “I’m just here to put this back.”

He waves about the saw and hangs it on the wall near Lance, who’s staring with wide eyes.

“You like my joke from this morning?”

The look in Tom’s eyes goes from light-hearted to something more sadistic, and Lance scoots just an inch away, treating Tom like a deadly snake.

“You’re being too stiff man!”

Tom smacks Lance in the forehead with the back of his hand. He looks away, searching for the right words. His injuries burn under the bandages, and the smack stings.

But that nice stranger gave him that ride in his truck.

And Shiro is going shopping with him on the weekend.

Tom raises an eyebrow in irritation as Lance stares at nothing, suddenly smiling. The dark feelings bubble up inside him, as this _mama’s boy_ standing in front of him laughs at something that’s probably him.

“What’re you laughing about?”

“…It was a good joke.”

Tom grabs Lance by the shoulders and slams him back into the shelving, the irritation easing back as he hears Lance cry out and random junk falls off.

“What are you laughing at!?”

“N -nothing! I swear! Tom, I swear!” Lance insists, squeezing his eyes shut tight as his bruises ache. His brother glares, but Lance just keeps his eyes shut tight. Eventually he feels his brother let go, hearing the man slam the door behind him. Lance holds his breath the whole time, then slides to the ground gasping and huddling up into a ball. His hands tremble, and his phone drops onto the concrete. It rattles as he tries to pick it up, but he keeps dropping it.

“Screw it!”

He slaps away the phone and hits the wall with the back of his hand. There’s a loud crack, and pain bursts from his hand, like a blister inside his flesh popping. His whole body tenses up and his back arches, spasms running up and down his arm.

Seething, he pulls back his hand and notices a split knuckle and swear. The pain forces the shock out of his mind though, and he’s not shaking anymore. With all the strength his weak legs can muster, he crawls over to his phone, skimming the messages and everyone’s comments. A soft noise slips from his mouth, and he flops to the ground, giggling and replying in the chat, blood from his knuckles and shoulder dripping onto the floor.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's a pattern to how I'm writing this and I'm not sure I like it.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Technically it's a date.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So many words... Also the final part of this ficlet gone wild.

“How are you older than me?” Lance whispers, peering at Keith’s work.

“Gimme a break, will you? It’s been a few years.”

“You remembered how to triangulate locations and build your own machinery out in the middle of the desert, but world literature is murdering you?”

“Yes!” Keith snaps, flipping through his copious notes.

“That’s ‘cuz you’re treating a novel like a flipping textbook! C’mon, let’s find somewhere to sit.”

“To the cafeteria then.”

At that Lance _has_ to put his foot down, and he balks.

“Keith. You’re near Veradero Beach, within walking distance of lots of restaurants and cafes near the shore, and you pick the _base cafeteria_?”

“Yeah?”

“Oh. My god,” Lance whispers, “it’s even worse than I thought.”

Keith groans and adjusts the strap of his backpack.

“I get it, I get it. Let’s go find somewhere to eat. Yay.”

“Yay!”

Eventually Lance drags Keith to a small café shaded with a too many patio umbrellas and too much oleander planted all around. The waitress sits them down fast, and Lance looks around in wonder, their bodies dyed red by the sunlight shaded by the scarlet umbrellas. The air is warm and humid, and Keith purses his lips, tugging at his collar. Lance is sweating too, but he seems unaffected by the heat.

“This place hasn’t changed at all.”

Keith watches Lance’s expression, thoroughly puzzled and unable to figure out what it is, until it finally hits him. Those eyes softly closed and the silence surrounding him is full of nothing but content, and he can’t remember ever seeing Lance like this, so quietly happy.

A few flowers fall onto their table, and Lance frowns, immediately brushing them off with the back of his hand.

“You know, oleander is apparently poisonous,” he says as he pushes the pink and white flowers off. The bit of trivia makes Keith’s lip curl in disgust.

“Don’t say that right as we’re about to eat,” he says. The ground is littered with the flowers. “Why do people even grow this everywhere then?”

“It’s pretty. What other reason do you have? It’s not like people go around eating flowers left and right.”

There’s a flat expression in Lance’s eyes as he casually mixes poison and flowers in his conversation, eyes dark black in this red-tinted shade. It makes Keith lean back in his seat. What does Lance want?

Keith doesn’t know.

“…I guess you’re right. I let you order everything, so please don’t poison me,” Keith says with some resignation, watching Lance pull an oleander flower off the bush to the side. For poison, it’s a pretty, delicate flower, with a vivid pink color. The pink reflects off the bandage on Lance’s hand that he won’t say anything about to any of them.

“I’m eating this too, you know?!” Lance insists, pretending to sound insulted.

With ice cold drinks and plates of lunch to the side as they study, they throw themselves into book work. Lance is in charge of humanities and social sciences, while they double-check together on Keith’s hazy memories of math and physics. Before long they’re done with their homework for the weekend, leaving Keith in a daze at all the work they’ve finished. He shakes the empty glass to his side, wishing the iced coffee or whatever Lance called it lasted a bit longer.

“I’m gonna go pay the bill,” he tells Lance as he gets up, but the boy’s already fidgeting.

“Sure. Do you mind if I leave right now?”

“Shiro right? Hurry back. Don’t keep him waiting!”

“Thanks!”

He gets up and runs off, and Keith snickers as Lance’s sandal nearly catches on an uneven stone.

 

Shiro glances around, then waves as he sees Lance running over.

“How was studying with Keith?”

“Productive.”

“The truth, please,” Shiro prods, getting inside the car.

“It is!” Lance pushes, hopping in as well. “We finished all our homework! That’s pretty cool, no?” He pauses in the car, then smiles brightly at the older man. “Before I forget though, thanks Shiro. I really appreciate this.”

“I told you, it’s no problem,” Shiro says. He keeps his eyes on the road, but Lance notices his fingers tighten on the wheel.

“Are you sure you still want to ride that bike anymore, Lance? I mean, it was only the chain, but you said you were in the bike lane. If it had snapped at the wrong time, you… could’ve been hit by a car,” he finishes, deciding to avoid the more pessimistic view.

“You’re being paranoid again~!” Lance sings, looking out the window of this ridiculous car. Shiro tries to interject, but Lance beats him to the punch.

“If you’re really worried, I’ll make sure to get an extra strong chain, and inserts for the tires. Better?”

“Yes.”

Lance narrows his eyes at Shiro, propping an elbow against the seat.

“Shiro, are actually relaxing? Like, at all?”

“Yes, I am! After I help out with maintenance on the lions tonight I’m gonna catch up sleep.”

He leans in a little more. Shiro can feel the panic slightly rising. Lance isn’t buying it.

“Why do you need to catch up on sleep?”

“The higher-ups won’t leave me alone.”

“Okay, but what about ‘me’ time? What’re you actually gonna do to relax?”

The AC’s cranked up but Shiro’s still sweating, and he figures as long as he can keep his eyes on the road, he won’t give anything away.

“… I made sure to schedule some ‘me’ time, no worries.”

“You serious? What’re you gonna do?!”

Lance looks so excited and interested, but Shiro has a lock on his mouth.

“I’m relaxing. That’s all you need to know.”

“Suspicious,” Lance loud-whispers under his breath. “Everyone knows you’re gonna be a workaholic, but at least try not to die on us, will ya’? For one, Keith might actually be the first person to flunk out of the Garrison _twice_.”

Shiro laughs and shakes his head.

“The universe has been trying to kill all of us for two years. There’s no way I’ll let red tape and overwork do me in after all of that. I’ve been enjoying good food and peace of mind way too much to let that happen.”

At the words ‘good food’, Lance settles back down, thinking about the café and its red umbrellas, as well as garlicky balls of dough, the woman humming as she formed the dough into knots with two motions.

“Food really is the best thing ever. Oh, when we were back at the Cali base, Hunk made these awesome s’mores cupcakes, and he really wanted to toast the marshmallow fluff on top, but it was the dorm kitchen, right? So we bribed Pidge with the cupcakes. She wanted to hack into a lab, but Hunk threw a fit. He said the cupcakes were going to taste like gas, so we literally had to sneak across campus and break into a workshop, where he used one of the torches to finally blacken the tops.”

Lance breathes out a happy noise as he remembers it all.

“And you know what? All that work was so worth it. I think it was the best thing we ate while away in the desert like that.”

Shiro can only imagine the panicked whispering and ducking and rolling all three must have done, and he chuckles to himself.

“Eating those under the stars must have been the cherry on top.”

“It really was. We had to give Pidge the rest of the cupcakes though. A camel spider crawled into her bag.”

Just like that, they talk until they hit the mall, Shiro listening fondly to Lance’s voice. When they walk in, Lance’s feet pause, and he peeks around, eyes wide.

“Oh damn. This place is really different.”

“That’s what maps are for.”

“Sure sure, maps are cool, but we don’t _need_ a map right now. Where’s your sense of adventure?”

“Lance.”

“Oh. Right.”

“Fine then, let’s explore a bit. Left or right?”

Lance folds his arms and looks around, before his eyes shine.

“Up!” Lance exclaims, going for one of the escalators.

“Wha- wait up! Lance!”

From there, Lance takes over, picking and choosing what stores to go to with a discerning eye. He peers so closely at a rack of shirts that Shiro wouldn’t be surprised if he just started to interrogate them.

“Hm, the price isn’t bad, but the fabric looks a little thick. Opinions, Shiro?”

“Um, I think you should wear what’s most comfortable.”

“Then I guess these are a no.”

Somehow, even with a budget in mind and comfort as king, Lance manages to get a handful of clothes to go try on.

“You should try to find stuff too, you know? I mean, we had to do some pretty desperate stuff,” Lance says, scowling as he remembers the dark times after the Washing Machine Incident.

“Pidge still wears that old shirt of Allura’s that you hemmed and styled for her,” Shiro says, trying to encourage Lance, but he still winces as well.

“Whhhhhhy? It looks terrible!”

Shiro right then and there vows to never tell Lance that he also still has the shirt that Lance pieced together for him during that week of laundry hell. It’s comfortable enough, it doesn’t look bad, and he’s sure Pidge thinks that too about her own shirt.

“It worked, that’s what mattered. Though, you and Coran were pretty busy that week.”

“That’s ‘cause we were the only two people in the Castle who knew how to sew! I honestly thought you would know how to too.”

“Sorry.”

“Anyways, you guys can’t live off of rags forever, and neither can I! So try to find something, or we could all try going together to find stuff. I’m just starting to get kinda desperate for underwear and clothes that don’t have long sleeves.”

“That’s… a pretty good point.”

Lance disappears into a changing room, and Shiro hesitantly wanders around. On a whim he picks up a t-shirt. The short sleeves have an interesting cut-out along the shoulders, something a little too flashy for him. He wonders if it would look good on Lance, since those cut-outs could show the muscle on his slimmer shoulders-

Shiro drops the shirt as if he’s been burned. With a groan he covers his face, taking a moment to collect himself.

“Do you need any help sir-,”

“I’m sorry not now please.” Shiro grumbles with a muffled voice.

The associate makes themselves scarce, and now Shiro just feel even more like an asshole. Pulling his hands off his face, he looks around and tries to make at least some sort of effort to find new clothes. His dying wardrobe is in desperate need of support, but by the time Lance comes out and even pays, Shiro can’t find anything. Maybe it’s because they keep going to stores Lance picks, but Shiro can’t seem to find anything he likes. He merely thinks about how good it could look on Lance.

“Granted, he looks good in anything,” Shiro mutters to himself.

“You say something?”

“N-no. Well, now that you have everything you need here, it’s your bike chain and groceries, right?” he says, changing the subject as quickly as possible.

“Yeah.”

A girl at a stall nearby gets her ear pierced and shrieks loudly. Lance flinches at the sound, immediately slinging his body closer towards Shiro, his face pales. Once he notices where the sounds coming from, he breathes in a single deep breath, a little color coming back to his face, but he’s still definitely not okay. Lance stares at how the person holds a piercing gun to the small child’s ear, and Shiro steadies him by the arms, holding him firm without thinking.

“Lance, are you alright? We’re fine, we’re all okay; this is earth, remember? Can you hear me?”

As long as Lance is talking, that means that everyone’s okay, but Lance isn’t talking right now, and it terrifies Shiro.

“Lance!”

Lance is still staring at the girl, but a little shake from Shiro wakes him up.

“Oh, thanks. I… It’s not Voltron. It’s something different. You really are seeing a therapist, huh?”

“Had my first session yesterday, but that doesn’t matter right now. Lance…”

The boy gives a shaky laugh and shimmies out of Shiro’s grip.

“I just have a couple bad memories from when I got my ears pierced. I still get the jitters around safety pins. If you ever decided to get your ears pierced, get it done with an actual piercing needle, pfft.”

“Safety pins? Isn’t that supposed to be dangerous?”

“I was ‘young and dumb’.”

Lance is joking again, and as much as Shiro wants to press the subject, Lance doesn’t want to. He just frowns and squints at Lance’s ears. Sure enough, there’s a small hole on each earlobe.

“Shiro?!”

The man steps back, hands up and face beginning to feel hot.

“I’m sorry!” he shouts. Shiro winces as he notices people staring. “Sorry,” he says again, this time quieter, “I just can’t believe I never noticed your ears were pierced this whole time. You don’t wear earrings at all.”

Lance laughs and grazes his ears with his fingertips.

“No jewelry in uniform, remember? Plus, I lost the only studs that I had. Surprised these haven’t closed up, to be honest.”

“Hm. It won’t hurt to try though, I bet.”

“Yeah. Maybe later.”

Lance finishes the rest of his errands with Shiro, and thanks Shiro again as he gets out of the car.

“Here! Thanks for driving me!” He hands Shiro a folded shirt. “I saw you looking at it when I got out of the changing room.”

“You didn’t have to-”

“Nah, you really saved me! Anyways, see ya!”

“See you…”

Lance runs inside, leaving behind Shiro. It takes him a moment to fumble for his keys with all his bags, but he gets the door open and stumbles in.

“Saaaaam! Maaaax! I got groceries! You guys wanna snack?” he calls. Steps pitter-patter on the stairs, and the two rush down, bundles of energy, even after being up and about for the day.

“Yes please!” Max shouts, digging through the grocery bags.

“Hey, I wanna pick too, Max!”

Lance pulls them both back, waiting for them to settle down.

“While I’m putting my stuff away upstairs, you guys put away the groceries, okay? Just leave everything you feel like eating on the table, and I’ll see what I can cobble up. Cool?”

“Yesssss!”

Sam looks at all the stuff Lance is holding, his mouth agape.

“Whoa, you got a lot of stuff.”

“I really needed new clothes and shoes. Turns out fighting space battles for two years in the same outfit isn’t very good for your clothes. We kinda had an incident with the washing machines.”

“Tell us later!”

“Anything for you, Sam,” he says warmly, tugging at one of the boy’s ears for fun before going up.

He tiptoes up the stairs, just in case anyone’s hiding around, before running into the attic room. As he folds and puts all his new clothes to the side, his face turns bright red and Lance begins to hum some barely remembered tune from long time ago.

“That was totally a date, right? A date!” he whispers to himself. He wishes he could tell someone – anyone! – this, but Hunk can’t keep secrets, Keith is as dense as a bag of bricks, and Pidge will mercilessly tease him till the end of time with his hero-worship-turned-actual-crush.

“Coran it is,” he mumbles to himself.

He pulls out his phone and is just about to type out a message, when a loud crash makes him jump. Wild yelling starts bouncing off the walls and echoing even upstairs in the room, and Lance’s heart jumps to his throat.

“I know you little shits hid it! Where?!”

Lance is already running down the stairs by the doubles, his body numb to all pain as he trips and slams his shins into the ground and gets up not a second later.

“Max, Sam! What’s wrong?!” he yells.

“Lance!”

“Uncle!”

He runs into the kitchen, gasping, feeling the two rush behind him.

“You guys okay?” he asks in between gasps, but Max and Sam look straight forward, eyes wide and faces pale. Lance frowns, then swallows. He tilts his head up very slowly, and clenches his teeth as he looks straight into a gleaming knife. The light flashes off the blade, and as if hypnotized, Lance feels his emotions vanish with a mental _snap!_ , as if someone snapped their fingers in his head.

He exhales softly, then smiles.

“Damien, what’re you yelling at ‘em about? You look a bit _edgy_ , huh?”

“What the hell? When did _you_ come back? Lance, I don’t have time for your fu-!”

“Damien. Max and Sam are here.”

“I don’t give a fuck. Those two hid Anna’s purse.”

Lance taps the kids’ chests with his fingertips, and they run away upstairs. Damien doesn’t chase them, and Lance shifts a little to the side, blocking the entryway.

 

The values blur on the paper, Shiro tries to look them over one more time anyways, trying to remember what Allura told him this symbol meant. It doesn’t work, and he rubs his face and rests his eyes for a second. Lance would probably yell if he could see him ignoring the clock to help out the repair crew.

Lance is right, and the psychiatrist is right too. He doesn’t have to do this right now, and the universe isn’t in danger right now. Funny how in those cheesy mecha anime he watched when he was younger they never talked about PTSD, or about what happened after the big bad was gone. Granted, they were for little kids, but PTSD and panic attacks just aren’t the sexiest topics in general when talking about saving the world, and logistics always get ignored in favor of picture perfect time skips.

“That’s it,” he mutters, rubbing at his scar, “Takashi Shirogane, you need to go the hell to sleep.”

He reaches high up with his arms, then starts looking for the lead supervisor, glancing around for bright red hair tucked under a yellow hard hat. He sees the woman on the other side of the hangar and waves at her with a tired smile.

“WHAT IS IT?” she yells above the deafening sound of equipment and power tools, and Shiro puts on his own hat before going over-

A shattering roar rips throughout the hangar, overpowering all other noises. Shiro yells and covers his ears, but he can feel the roar rumbling and reverberating in his ribs, bouncing around in the chambers of his heart, threatening to shake him to pieces. With wincing eyes, he looks up and sees why.

It’s not just one roar.

Both Red and Blue are roaring, their bodies lifting up into the air from the sheer force of their cries. The lions pace and shuffle about in place, their massive bodies destroying everything nearby, screaming and calling out the loudest Shiro has ever heard them, tails swishing in frustration. At any moment they could shake off the scaffolding around them, not caring about the workers still on them that are patching up years of damage.

Shiro stares up in horror, then quickly pulls out his phone.

 

“C’mon Dame. They’re just kids, what would they even do with Anna’s purse? Max isn’t interested in makeup or that kinda stuff, and Sam prefers a bit more sparkle on his trophies.”

“So the kid’s a fag too?” Damien says, leaning in and pricking the tip of the blade against Lance’s Adam’s Apple.

The words make Lance wince, but he doesn’t swallow at the touch of the kitchen knife. He’s been through so much worse at this point.

“You’re going a bit off topic Dame,” he says, noticing the erratic, wide-eyed stare in the man’s eyes. “Call Anna again. Ask her again.”

“I’m no dumbass! I heard her loud and clear!”

The tip of the knife dances and curves up on Lance’s throat, but it doesn’t cut.

“Where did you hear her? Does it hurt to ask again? Drink something. You’ll think better when you’re calm, amirite?”

The smoldering fury in Damien’s eyes increases, and the knife isn’t cutting but definitely digging in a bit deeper. Lance looks at Damien, wondering if he can disarm the man before his throat gets slit.

Sharp, tinny ringing jolts them both out of whatever daze they’re in. The salmon pink phone on wall screams, the little bell inside the plastic shell rattling with no end in sight.

Without looking away, Damien picks the receiver off the wall. He listens for a moment, then hands it over to Lance, keeping the kitchen knife pointed at Lance.

“-llo?! Hello, anyone?! Lance, are you alright?!”

Shiro’s voice is pitched and panicked, and Lance leans into the receiver, brow furrowed in worry.

“Shiro? What’s wrong man? Everything okay?”

He motions to the man to put the knife down, gesturing to not interrupt the call. The movement is so causal, that a spark seems to go off in Damien’s brain, setting off another chain reaction of logic – a chain that tell him that killing people doesn’t work, and that even if he _does_ kill his girlfriend’s annoying kid brother, it won’t tell him where Anna’s purse is. Lance’s eyes follow Damien, as he puts the knife down and leaves after grabbing another beer.

Tension melts from Shiro’s body as he hears Lance’s voice, and he looks up to see the Lions settling down as well.

“I just heard silence so I got really worried. Red and Blue were just behaving strangely.”

“Hm? Why didn’t you call Keith?”

“You’re the only one who’s piloted both,” Shiro answers, wondering why there’s genuine confusion in Lance’s voice. “I made an educated guess. Anyways, are you okay? You’re not about to do anything crazy, are you? The Lions nearly broke out; it was like you were about to die or something.”

Lance’s voice chokes up in that second, and against his will as his eyes dart down to the knife on the countertop.

“Did something actually happen?!”

“Shiro, calm down,” Lance says, dropping his voice to something low and soothing. “We’re not kids anymore, you know?” he jokes, and he can just imagine seeing Shiro’s shoulders slumping. “I’m in a cozy house near Veradero Beach in my kitchen right now, listening to you freak out over the phone, and once I hang up I’m gonna make a snack for my niece and nephew. Can you imagine a safer place right now? Maybe Blue and Red are just jealous of the bomb-ass peanut butter-and-jelly sandwich I’m about to make.”

Shiro says some other stuff, but he doesn’t pay attention. Lance just listens to Shiro’s voice, letting its familiar firmness calm his skittish heart rate right now.

Shiro keeps talking to Lance, but he knows that the boy isn’t listening to him anymore. There’s no more clear answers; just blank utterances of agreement. Shiro pays enough attention to Lance to know when he’s being blown off, but at this point he’s surprised that the perceptive Lance hasn’t caught on that Shiro notices.

“I’ll see you on Monday then.”

“Yeah, see you then!”

Shiro ends the call, then turns to the Lions again. The panicking work crew are only just starting to reorganize themselves, and all the metal and concrete around Red and Blue is either twisted up into a useless mess or crushed into fine dust. He looks back down at his phone for a long second, and begins to type out a message to Keith.

[What’s Lance’s cell?]

His thumb hovers over the ‘send’ button, but no matter how much he tries, he hesitates at the last moment.

It’s a perfectly normal move to want to get into touch with Lance faster, right? He’s always had Keith’s cell number, and because of Matt and how Hunk is collaborating with Pidge, he has their direct numbers too. Lance is the only one that he only has a home phone for, but the boy never seemed bothered by it.

 Shiro presses the backspace button, watching the letters blink out of existence.

He’s just being paranoid. Lance has been the most vocal one out of all of them, telling Shiro that he needs to go to therapy, and in therapy they tell him that he needs to let go of his stress and paranoia and learn how to trust a little more again in the world again.

Lance isn’t a liar, and he knows that Lance trusts them all as well. Knowing how lively and clever the boy is, Shiro’s sure that Lance is smart enough to tell them if anything happens. He pockets the phone and resolves to just ask Lance for his number on Monday. Something uneasy flips in his stomach, his eyes once more drifting over the damaged hangar.

Then what made the Lions so anxious?

 

Lance hangs up, staring at the empty kitchen. He stares at the floor tiles for a very long time, head empty and ears full of silence.

“Oh. Food.”

That’s right. He was going to make a snack for the kiddies.

He opens the kitchen and pulls out a whole mess of things and two slices of bread.

It doesn’t take him long to assemble some monstrous concoction filled to the brim with leftovers and ham and lettuce and mustard, but he’s about to smear on butter, peanut butter, and jelly, he pauses. He can’t spread this with his bare hands.

His eyes roll around the kitchen, and he snatches up the kitchen knife. This can get the job done. He washes the oversized knife and puts it away in it’s normal place before carrying the plate upstairs.

The knock-code is always a shave and a haircut, and Lance speaks softly.

“Hey guys, it’s me.”

The door opens a crack, and the two let him in.

“You guys all good?” he asks.

“Perfectly fine!” Max whispers, pumping up a nonexistent bicep.

“Sam?”

“Never better,” the boy replies, hopping up and down to show Lance.

The dark bedroom snaps into focus, and Lance’s legs have their strings cut. With a purse of his lips he heaves out a relieved sigh, collapsing down to the ground and placing the plate on the hardwood floors.

“Uh, is this another ‘PB&J’?” Sam asks, with a healthy dose of air quotes. He peeks in at the sandwich and wrinkles his nose.

“Wait, wait, Sam, he put in bacon this time – it’s a good one!”

Lance looks between the two of them, head tilted to the side.

“Kiddies, what’re you talking ab- huh?!”

He scuttles away from his sandwich on all fours. After a few seconds of horror, he drops onto his stomach. With morbid curiosity crawls in, examining the thing from all angles. It’s almost half a foot tall, dripping with all sorts of food sauces and an unappetizing mix of colors in general. Fresh lettuce peeks through some of the layers, already wilting from the greasy weight of the other foods, but at least that means it’s sort-of healthy.

“Wha… I made a PB&J… Yes… Did I?”

He almost starts screeching as he stops the two from digging in. “Are you serious?! This looks gross!”

“Dude, everytime you say you’re gonna make a peanut butter and jelly, this is what happens,” Sam explains, lifting Lance’s hands to grab at a bacon-filled layer.

“Hey! You don’t get to hog the bacon!” Max snaps, and with her nimble fingers plucks away a bundle of pig stomach.

“Max!”

“You guys, stop it. I’ll fry up some more if you guys want, alright?” he answers, rubbing at his eyes in the dim room. “What do you guys mean that’s ‘what happens’? I always make you guys a PB&J.”

“Noooooo,” Max says, shaking her head and making her pigtails fly all about, all to prove a point. “There’s always peanut butter and jelly in the sandwich, but you also put a whole bunch of stuff inside too. They’re usually pretty good.”

She says that, and with an undeniable level of expertise uses a surviving lettuce leaf to make a makeshift lettuce-roll with some of the sandwich.

“Sooooo, every single time I’ve made you a PB&J it’s been…”

“Not a PB&J.”

“Not a PB&J.”

Lance groans and lets his entire body fall onto the ground.

“I think I need a moment. My entire world was just shattered.”

Sam frowns and lays on the ground next to Lance to use Lance’s back as a pillow.

“C’mon, it’s just a sandwich. Plus we really like these!”

“Laaaance,” Max drawls, resting her chin on Lance’s back across from Sam, “Uncle Lance, Big Bro, bestest uncle in the universe! ‘Uncle-style’ PB&J is the best thing ever, a’right?”

Lance laughs pulls up his arms to wrap around them. “Aw, thanks you two! It’s just that – mm, never mind,” he says in the end. No point telling them something needlessly sad.

“Whaaaat? Tell, tell, tell!” the two yell, and suddenly he feels little fingers tickling at his sides. “Pffft, okay, okay!” he gasps between laughs. He wipes tears from his eyes and crawls up, still chuckling.

“Your grandma, whenever I was feeling bad and she didn’t have much time, she made me a PB&J, and then during the weekends she’d make her awesome, _awesome_ garlic rolls. Best in the universe, I swear,” he murmurs, a dreamy look in his eyes. “I wanted to do the same for you guys too, but seems like I’ve been messing it up all these years without realizing it.”

His eyes widen.

“Holy cannoli I can’t do a single thing right. Sorry, if I was a bit better I could do everything that Mama used to do for me. I really- ow!”

Max pinches Lance, and he yelps and backs off.

“Lance, you’re talking too much again!”

“You’re the best uncle ever, okay?” Sam adds, wrapping his arms tightly around Lance’s waist. Sam looks at Max and tilts his head towards Lance. She nods and hugs Lance by the neck, nearly strangling him, but he laughs with them all the same.

“Bestest Uncle and Big Brother in the whole universe,” she giggles.

“Tell us another story about space,” Sam asks.

“Sure, sure!”

As Lance sets off into another show-offy speech, he feels his heart sink. He’s useless to these kids. He’s trying to make them feel better, and instead they’re trying to console him instead. It’s not healthy. Max and Sam deserve to live like kids, not like his personal cheerleaders, all while he can’t even make them a sandwich right. He barely kept them safe tonight too.

He can’t leave them alone, but to say anything could tear the family apart.

‘Defender of the Universe’? What a joke. Lance can’t even keep his own family in one piece.

The guilt burns in his stomach, but he laughs and brags to them all the same.

As he talks, Sam and Max’s eyelids droop, and he drags on the story, adding every little detail like his soft and shiny the grass on the garden looked.

“And then Pidge burst through a wormhole so fast it was like she was psychic,” he whispers, shaking each of the them to the side just hard enough to wake them up.

“Wha… Uncle, what is it?”

“Max, mmphh,” Sam splutters, “We gotta brush… Mm’rush ‘eeth…” he mumbles, stumbling to the bathroom.

“Oh, okay,” she whispers hoarsely, following after Sam.

Lance carefully watches over them as they head to the bathroom outside, waiting by the door as his ears are trained for the surroundings. The light downstairs is still on, but he can also hear loud, drunken laughter and the TV going. If he closes his eyes and listens closely, he can also hear plastic clicking and sliding against each other.

“Oh. Poker night. They haven’t had one in awhile.”

He hears Carmen’s voice mixed in with those of his dad and Connor as well. Anna and Damien thought they were too cool for Poker Night ages ago.

“Blegh, we’re done,” Max says, her voice heavy with sleep. She’s firmly holding onto Sam’s hand, and for good reason. The boy is even sleepier than her.

“Alright, lemme tuck you guys in,” he whispers, as they both crawl into bed and settle down. Lance pulls the thin comforter over the two of them, making sure they’re cozy and nestled in. They’re out like lights, and he’s glad that his sister has signed them up for a multitude of summer activities to keep them active and out of the house.

“Can’t blame Carmen for trying,” he mumbles to himself, settling down into a makeshift futon of spare sheets and a stuffed elephant for a pillow. He listens for the sound of the ocean in the distance, and his body begins to move in time with the tide, his heartbeat slowing down as his breathing goes shallow. The water must be softly lapping at the cliff rocks right now, and it’s late enough that Shiro and Hunk must also be going to sleep by now. Pidge and Keith are nocturnal, so they’ll stay up for who knows how long. Even a night owl like Lance can’t keep up with the abuse those two put their bodies through. His thoughts end on what an all-nighter marathon between Pidge and Keith would look like, before he finally drifts to sleep.

 

Lance’s jaw drops as he sees the Paladins absolutely killing it at some club.

Hunk and Coran are dancing way too seriously for a club with cherries and pineapples floating under the dance tiles, and when he looks through a hazy, blank spot on the floor to the bar, he needs to rub his eyes as Pidge and Allura knock back tequila shots like champs, no chaser needed. They notice him looking, laugh and wave, then switch to whiskey shots.

He looks away and finally seees Keith and Shiro dancing together, and Lance steps out, trying to reach them. The clear plexiglass melts under his feet and he falls through and now he’s floating with the cherries and pineapples, somehow still seeing things with crystal clear vision. With that perfect vision that can somehow cut through water, glass, and fruit, he sees Shiro look down. Shiro notices Lance floating with the fruit, then waves a short goodbye to Keith. His friend sees the two of them, smiles, then disappears. Shiro walks over, and his legs are right over Lance when he kneels down. Slowly but surely, his legs also melt through the plexiglass, and now he’s floating through water and fruits to intertwine his fingers with Lance’s. Shiro leans in, their chests touching, and Lance can’t say a thing as Shiro whispers into his ear.

“They were freaking out like you were gonna die, Lance. You were about to get stabbed,” Shiro murmurs, his voice low and sexy.

Lance’s eyes snap open, just in time to see Shiro stab him in the chest with a kitchen knife, happy as a clam.

Lance’s back arches up from the ground as he screams. Or at least as he tries to. There’s no sound coming from his mouth, just his chest rumbling from some invisible effort. He kicks the sheets off and sits up, gasping. His skin is slick with sweat, and the sheer magnitude of today has finally slapped him in the face.

He almost got stabbed by his sister’s boyfriend today.

He almost got stabbed by his sister’s boyfriend today.

He almost got stabbed by his sister’s boyfriend today.

He almost got stabbed by his sister’s boyfriend today.

He almost got stabbed by his sister’s boyfriend today.

He almost got stabbed by his sister’s boyfriend today.

He almost got stabbed by his sister’s boyfriend today.

He almost got stabbed by his sister’s boyfriend today –

He almost got motherfucking _stabbed_ today.

Like a bolt Lance scrambles for the window, unlatching it and popping the screen off like a pro. He can’t close the window, but he slides the screen back into place and makes a leap of faith for the tree. Like as if it were yesterday, he shimmies down the tree like a perturbed cat and starts sprinting for a beach. He can’t go to the closest ones, since they’re popular all times of the day, but he ignores the burning in his lungs and throat as he picks up his speed, heading for that small beach with those small rock formations and cute tide pools.

The neighborhood gives way to small roads, and those give way to sand, till he’s scrambling up the rocks, slicing his hands to shit. He reaches the top and sees that the ocean is calm, moonlight painting a stripe of silver down the center of the waves.

Without wasting a single moment Lance starts to scream.

Panic bubbles up and is released in a scream, and he doesn’t stop, even after it tears up his throat. He stops and gasps for air, small pebbles pressing painfully into the bruises on his shins.

“Calm, you’re okay. You’re okay now. You’re not dead. You’re alive. Just gotta be more careful next time. Yeah, yeah,” he mutters to himself. He thinks back to his dream, floating in warmth while Shiro’s arms are wrapped around him, the cool metal of his prosthetic soothing the humid heat around them.

Shouting echoes in the distance, and Lance presses himself flat to the rock and wiggles over to the edge.

“Ohhh, shit.”

It’s summertime. Tourist season is in full-swing, so of course someone probably heard him screaming bloody murder. A group of worried Good Samaritans talk with an officer, who actually looks concerned, despite the insane partying that happens on beaches sometimes. Lance crawls to the other side and starts scaling down, but his cut hands sting on the wet rocks.

“Hello! Anyone there? If you need any help, please yell!”

Lance would groan if it weren’t for the fact that there were some genuinely scared people coming to check out screaming in the middle of the night. It’s probably what he would do after all.

“Hello?”

The voice is suddenly right near him, and his hands slip and he crashes into the water. He forces himself to dive deeper into the pitch-black water, waiting for the beam of the flashlight to pass. The officer is stubbornly looking, and bubbles begin to stream from Lance’s mouth. When the beam swings to the right, Lance swims to the left and risks coming up for a little air, before vanishing under the waves again.

The stuffiness in his head doesn’t fade for very long though, and it takes all his willpower to not breach sounding like a dying whale when the light vanishes. His hands claw through the water, and he bursts up gasping and coughing. Keeping out a wary eye, he climbs back onto the rocks and walks home with his waterlogged clothes.

Instead of sneaking in, it’s more like he falls into the twin’s bedroom with a _splat_.

The noise wakes both of the kids up, and they stare blankly at Lance.

“Uncle. You killed a bug?” Max asks.

Lance doesn’t even bother lifting his face from the ground.

“Yemphhhh.”

 _I am the bug_ , he thinks.

The twins seem to accept that as an answer and go right back to sleep. Bless the fact that kids sleep easy. Lance looks at the red streaked over his palms and beginning to pool in the lines of his palms, then sloshes to his suitcase to grab his pajamas and new underwear. Sticking his head out, he hears more boisterous laughter now, but just that of his dad and Connor. He smiles and tiptoes to the bathroom.

Connor’s the only one who can make dad laugh like that.

He washes the salt off his body and starts sticking on as many band-aids as he can onto his hands after he dresses. Puffing up his cheeks, he observes his handiwork.

Yep. It just looks like he had a rough time cooking, instead of having a massive freakout and cutting up his palms on rocks and barnacles. Smiling at his fingers, he gets up to turn off the lights. As he slides open the door, someone blocks his way.

“What’re doin’?”

It feels like he’s been dunked in ice water, and Lance pales. He steps back on instinct, but Connor steps forward, already familiar with how Lance likes to run. He’s trapped himself in the bathroom, and Connor gently shuts the door behind him.

“Snea-Sneaking ouuut, tsktsk…” he slurs, his hand snaking out. Lance flinches, but the arm only clamps down onto Lance’s shoulder. For some reason, that only makes Lance shudder and breathe even harder.

“I’ll tell Camile tha’, tha’ yoove been a bad boy.”

Camile.

The name helps Lance keep some of his wits, and he smiles down with bared teeth and cold sweat rolling down his neck.

“Connor, you’re _soooo_ drunk. Mom’s dead, remember?”

At the word ‘dead’, something in Connor’s eyes spark. He shoves back Lance, his arm snapping out and slamming the small of Lance’s back into the sink. The hard edge cuts and bruises his spine, sharp pain easing into a sore ache in the skin and flesh.

While he’s still dazed from the shock, Connor’s hands dip down below his waistband. Lance grabs at Connor’s wrist, snarling.

“Stop it, I’ll yell!” he whispers with venom.

“Sure ya’ will. Th’ kids’ll love seein’ you moanin’ like some bidge,” Connor mumbles, shaking off Lance’s grasp with no concern or hesitation. His fingers explore Lance’s every nook and cranny, all while his other hand furiously works in his own pants. The alcohol isn’t making it any easier.

“You damn drunk.”

In response, Connor squeezes, hard, and it takes Lance’s everything to not yell from the sudden pain.

He looks at Connor’s broad shoulders, his messy hair, and imagines instead that there’s a tuft of white cutting through those dark locks. Those shoulders are even broader when he looks closer, and he snaps his eyes shut once the mental image is done, smothering himself just in time.

“Shiro,” he breathes into his hand.

Connor finally finishes after too long, and he leans into Lance, hugging him around the waist.

“Camile, Camile,” he murmurs over and over, repeating the name like some sort of chant. “Miss you.”

Lance blinks down a few times at his uncle, then gives the man light pats on the back. Lance’s eyes are like inky pools; black and gleaming.

Empty.

 

* * *

  

“I know. We all do.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So that's all for now folks. Dunno if I'll keep going, but it was sure as hell fun to write.


	4. Pinholes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lance tries to pull himself together.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Thursday/Friday, depending on when you read it, haha.

He keeps trying to make breakfast, but the seeds of the tomatoes spill out over the wooden cutting board. Red viscera splattered all about on this tiny battlefield under his bandaged hands. As a sniper, that’s what he was, an observer from up high. Blood would spill, and huddled away above the ground, he’d empty his lungs deeply and…

_Thunk._

The kitchen knife goes down, and he cuts the tomato halves into quarters, the dull blade squishing out more of the tomato’s guts.

“Seeya loser!”

Tom runs by, kicking Lance’s knees in, and his shins smack into the cabinets. Lance gasps and shuts his eyes tight as Tom leaves to the tune of feet slapping on tile, pain stabbing through his legs. Once the initial wave is over, he slides to the ground and rolls up his pants with trembling hands. The bruises from yesterday still look the same mottled green-black. Lance grimaces and pulls his pant legs back down, glad that they at least haven't gotten worse. He still needs to find that little green tin of arnica salve that's in the house somewhere for those.

With a slow smoothness, he stands up and keeps cooking. The blade glints under the light, and he wishes more than ever that he could bring his Bayard home. Keith’s the one who’s good with knives, not him. If worst came to worst, could he slide a blade under someone’s jaw, or reliably hold someone at bay with a few swipes from a sharp edge?

Lance thinks it over, then gets back to work. No, he’s just gone complacent. He did fine beforehand, and he’ll adapt and think fast like he’s always done. Tomato juice soaks under the band-aids as he cooks, stinging the tiny cuts covering his palms.

It hurts, but he keeps working. He’ll change the band aids afterwards, and all will be well.

 

“What the heck? What happened?” Hunk asks, peering down at the bruising on Lances shins. “I thought it was just your hands!”

Lance laughs and kicks his feet back and forth on the bench in the locker room. His slim legs sway while he looks at Hunk with warmly narrowed eyes.

“My hands were from climbing. These babies are from tripping off the stairs while chasing after Sam and Max,” he says, sliding a hand down one of the discolorations on his legs.

“You gotta be more careful man,” Hunk sighs, “besides, I thought Keith was the reckless one.”

“No, Keith’s the _lucky_ one. He can do all sorts of crazy shit and still be okay after.”

“That’s… That’s true.”

Hunk looks to the side, then gasps and pulls his shirt over Lance’s lap.

“Careful,” he whispers under his breath as Shiro walks over, freshly showered and changed. Water’s still dripping from the man’s hair, and it takes Lance’s everything to not sigh dreamily at how his shirt clings wetly to his chest, muscles lightly defined under the fabric. Yes, sue him for treating romance like a teen romcom, but he’s had to make do with that being one of his few references for love since puberty.

“Shiro, wassup?” Hunk asks with a small wave.

“Haha, nothing much. I was just wondering about… Lance your legs?!”

Shiro’s laughs are low-throated but ring so nicely in Lance’s opinion, and even his voice tinged with worry is deep and reliable.

“He tripped on the stairs playing with Sam and Max,” Hunk answers hastily for Lance, trying to discourage Shiro from coming to too close to see Lance’s bare legs.

“I-Is that so? Does is hurt a lot, Lance?”

Lance startles and shakes his head. Shiro looks a little pale, but that might be a trick of the terrible fluorescent lighting in the locker rooms.

“I’m fine! It doesn’t hurt unless you touch it. Also, thanks again for the ride on Saturday!”

“I’m telling you, it was nothing. Though…”

“Not many people have a mid-life crisis at twenty-one, Shiro,” Hunk snickers.

“I’d just gotten my promotion,” Shiro tries to explain, “the pay raise was really nice, so I sold my old car and decided to buy a better one,” he grumbles off. The others haven’t let it down ever since, and even Keith’s joined in, to his shock. It’s a little exhausting and embarrassing and fun all bundled up into a never-ending slew of jokes from them all.

“Anyways, you all be careful, alright? Especially you, Lance,” Shiro says sternly. He leans in to pick up one of Lance’s hands, and frowns at how it’s covered in plasters. “Next time you go climbing rocks, maybe pick some that are less sharp?”

It’s a joke, but Lance can see Shiro’s concern. The man’s eyes always narrow just the slightest bit, and his lips press down. Lance smiles and tries to savor the feeling of Shiro’s fingers and his almost entwining.

“I’ll try, I’ll try.”

“Good.”

Hunk watches the two of them, with increasing curiosity and wide eyes, but he hides his face when Shiro gets up and leaves. With a sigh of relief he drags the shirt off of Lance’s lap.

“Dude, you’re usually really careful with these,” Hunk says, gesturing to the scars that line and crisscross Lance’s inner thighs. They’re thin and pale, like white pencil lines on Lance’s tanned skin, and he reflexively puts his hands on his lap.

“Oops, you really saved me.”

“No problem, no problem.”

 

Lance listens intently to what the twins are saying, nodding as much as he needs to, his eyes wide and full of interest. When he gets the chance, he texts Coran frantically.

_Went shopping together with Shiro, need quick opinion!!! Courting meeting, yay or nay?_

“Wow! And then what happened?” he explains, sliding his phone into his pocket.

“Tamara went _splat_ on the waves,” Max says, slapping her palms for emphasis. Sam winces, but he still laughs along.

“Serves her right for saying she could do anything,” he says, shrugging. His words make Lance frown, and he takes a little time to lean in towards the two.

“Alright, some real talk now, okay? Tamara was being mean and she wasn’t acting like a good person, but she could’ve gotten really hurt, right? I don’t think it’s funny when people get hurt, and it doesn’t do you any good to start laughing at people in danger, you understand?”

Sam blinks a few times at Lance, then groans and folds his arms.

“I got it, I got,” he grumbles. “She’s still a total meanie-pie though!”

“I feel ya, Sam. Like I said, just because you can’t laugh at someone in danger doesn’t mean you can’t dislike them as a person. It’s just that you should value…”

Lance cuts himself off. Let’s not kid themselves. As part of Voltron, he’s killed a lot of Galra. All of those ships they’ve blown up, how many soldiers with families were on those ships? On top of that, how many people have died _for_ them? The Balmerans were nearly decimated just because Voltron appeared, not to mention Sven got himself shot for Lance – the list goes on for far too long.

At this point, can he really lecture the kiddies on valuing life without being a hypocrite?

“Lance?”

“Uncle?”

Lance blinks and yanks himself back to reality, grounding himself in squeaking bicycle wheels and the feel of sandy asphalt underfoot. Tilting his head to the side and softly closing his eyes, he lets sound guide him for the next couple yards.

“You should always value life, no matter how insignificant it seems. It all adds up and…” his eyes flicker open in a sleepy, half-closed fashion, warmly gleaming under setting sunlight.

“If you’re not careful, you might accidentally become a monster if you make ignoring life a habit.”

The two kids stare at him, as he aimlessly ambles along the sidewalk with them, rolling his bike over uneven pavement and cracks. Sam and Max share a glance, and Max walks up and slings her arm through Lance’s elbow.

“Lance, I don’t understand.”

“Me neither,” Sam complains, walking up to also link elbows with Lance.

“Huh? Oh, I guess I’m being weird huh? Hmmmmm… Just treat life and people as something important. As long as you do that, you’ll be a good person, and if you ever decide otherwise, well, you just have to do the opposite. Remember that, alright?”

“Okay, uncle.”

“Sure, Lance!”

“That’s my kiddies!” Lance chuckles, ruffling their hair. He stows away his bike while the two unlock the front door, but barely a step in, the three of them freeze. Thin blades of ice cut lines down Lance’s back, and the two kids run upstairs, silent and brooding. Lance stares at Anna for a few seconds, then tosses his bag onto the kitchen table as he walks over.

“I’m gonna make dinner. Wanna snack?”

“No. I’m fine.”

Lance breathes deeply, sighing through his nose as he rummages through the kitchen for some fruit. Anna scowls as she sees Lance bring out some apples.

“I told you, I don’t want a snack.”

“These are for me and the kiddies.”

Lance runs the apples under the sink, but eventually he puts the fruit on a cutting board and turns to face Anna. There’s a frown on his face, and he grips the counter behind him with both hands.

“Anna, Damien pulled a knife on Sam and Max the other night.”

“So?”

Lance’s temper flares, but he keeps his hands on the counter.

“Are you kidding me?! I almost got _stabbed_ , Anna! What if he’d hurt Sam and Max before I got to them in time?”

The woman purses her glossy, plump lips and folds her arms, her sparkling eyes and immaculate liner rippling slightly as she refuses to look at Lance.

“Oh, come on. You know that Damien wouldn’t hurt a fly. Sure he gets high sometimes, but he’s chill about it! He’s not some junkie, and you could’ve been overreacting like usual as far as I know.”

“I’m not! The Li-!”

Lance pauses, irritated as he watches Anna glances up through her immaculate lashes at him, the faintest smile of victory dancing on those photoshop-perfect lips.

He can’t help but wonder though. To the Lions, he’s nothing but a blip in the many millennia that they’ve been in existence. While they were at war, the Lions couldn’t afford to be picky, and it made sense that they jealously protected their pilots. Now that they’re back in peacetime though, the idea of the Lions reacting so strongly to their pilots in danger seems almost laughable.

He refuses to let Anna get the last word in though.

“No matter what you say, he’s totally a junkie,” he spits, gritting his teeth.

Anna rushes forward and slaps him on the cheek, throwing her weight behind the hit. Lance can feel his face snapping to the side, but the feeling is detached, as if he’s watching her slap him from the ceiling light. The pain doesn’t happen, not as long as he’s watching from above, but the shock still gets to him.

Anna never hits him.

“Don’t you dare say a damn thing about Damien! I know you’ve had your eye on him since the beginning, you damn slut. Flirting all around like some whore,” she hisses. Lance’s eyes widen, before they grow muddled and dim, his self forcibly pulled down from the ceiling, and an ache beginning to spread from his cheek.

“What? Listen, just because I’m bi doesn’t mean-!”

“Oh will you just shut up! All of your kind are like that, alright?! I don’t get it, even after you came out, why did mom still treat you like her favorite? You were the only one to hear her last words, while all of us got jack shit-!”

Her bright eyes begin to grow wet and glossy, and Lance springs into action, quickly grabbing some napkins to offer to her.

“Oh no, Anna, please don’t cry. I’m sorry, I didn’t know you felt that way about me and Damien. If there’s anything you want me to change about how I act, I’ll do it! Just tell me and I’ll…”

His voice trails off as he sees the hate in Anna’s eyes.

“Why are you like this?” she murmurs under her breath, before twisting away on her heels. Before she opens the door, she gets the last word in.

“Damien should’ve killed you.”

The door slams, and Lance is left with a sore cheek, scrounging the freezer for anything frozen to put on it. He reaches inside for a bag of peas, swinging the freezer door close with a flourish.

Right at that moment, his phone dings, and after he reads Coran’s response, he drops his ass into a chair, frozen peas on his cheek as he giggles and kicks his feet.

_If you want it to be, then it is, my boy! *0*_

 

For a day or two, things seem to go normally, as he’s out of the house and the others are rarely there, each out doing their own thing. At least until he comes back in the middle of the week, exhausted after a long day of training. Sam and Max are already upstairs, relaxing after their own busy day, but Lance is just now coming back late, after returning to base to study with Keith. His back is stiff from being hunched over books, and his eyes are watery from the dim lighting and small font. Sighing, he stumbles through the door and crashes into a firm, well-built chest. For a moment, confusion rips through his head, and he looks up to clear his frenetic thoughts.

Connor is there, and Lance’s mind goes blank. His blinks up stupidly, silent and open-mouthed, his entire body already preparing for the process of either going dead or plastering Shiro’s image over him. The image slides off Connor’s face like water as he stalks forward in the foyer and hoists Lance up by the collar. That’s the switch he needs. Shiro wouldn’t ever do something like this to him, and Lance’s body goes limp instead.

“You wouldn’t _believe_ the crazy shit I heard today from Anna,” Connor growls. “You left the kids _alone_? While that _psycho_ was in the house?”

Connor shakes Lance like a small puppy, not caring as Lance’s legs loosely dangle in the air and small coughs rattle in his throat.

“You were careless! You never, ever should leave them alone with Damien!” Connor roars, tossing Lance onto the ground. His injured shoulder crashes onto the cream tiles, and the pain should be making him cry and scream right now, but instead his whole body is wrapped in soothing layer of numbness. His eyes are glassy, and he stares up at Connor with dull eyes. The dead expression riles something up in the man, and his temples pulse.

“Listen to me!”

Connor aims a sharp kick at Lance’s stomach, furious, and finally Lance begins to react. He tries to twist his arms like a pretzel, holding his shoulder while also covering his stomach at the same time.

“Don’t try to run away! You messed up! You messed up! You! Messed! Up!”

Every yell is punctuated with a well-timed kick, and Connor kneels down and grabs Lance’s sleeves and whacks his back onto the floor.

“Honestly you can’t do a damn thing right! You always mess up somehow!”

His yelling is rattling Lance’s eardrums, and Lance can feel the ache of a bruised muscle deep in his core, but only distantly – faintly. Connor holds Lance’s head in place, suddenly frustrated beyond belief. From this angle, with this flat expression, Lance looks like Camille, all soft-haired and dark-eyed, a homely beauty. His hands slide down from Lance’s cheek, then strike at Lance’s neck like some python, squeezing and churning, feeling the tendons and muscles ripple under his hands.

Lance tries to scream but can’t, gagging and coughing silently. His body can’t afford to play dead, and it chooses to fight. In a last-ditch effort, he kicks his knee up between the man’s legs and strikes Connor in the eye with the base of his palm at the same time.

The man yells and recoils, and Lance forces himself to fight the urge to collapse and gasp for breath like a dying fish, shakily stumbling to his feet for the stairs, running and running until he collapses in Max and Sam’s room. He sprawls over the ground, the world looking like a messy palette of colors before passing out.

 

“Shiro, we’re fine,” the project head says with a beleaguered grin. He’s just barely hiding the exasperation under his skin, but Shiro can still see it, clear as day. It’s his cue to take a step back, and he looks up at the Lions, squinting under the glare of the floodlights.

They’re large and majestic; always a sight to behold.

And right now Shiro can’t do anything for them.

The Lions are all stable, and even after that little incident from the weekend, they’ve been completely calm, save for some power fluctuations in the Blue and Red Lions. While Shiro wishes he could blame it all on some strange, Altean, freak-of-nature accident, his mind drifts back to Lance, to that bright-toned voice sounding so flat.

Sighing, he nods and says goodbye, much to the head’s relief. In his brain he keeps replaying what his psychiatrist said during their session earlier today.

_“Shiro, we’ve been talking about coping techniques and the possibility of medication as well, but as a matter of day-to-day satisfaction, it seems that you hold yourself to an impossibly high standard. You work and work, but it never seems good enough or acceptable enough. At some point, it becomes unhealthy, and it’ll also put a strain on your recovery. We can take baby steps, but I’d first suggest prioritizing your tasks realistically, and not taking on new ones unless it’s absolutely necessary._

He’d sat there, his mind so blank and out of it that it was as if the psychiatrist had shot him. Work was… well, it wasn’t relaxing, but it made him feel necessary and productive. As long as he kept moving, he didn’t have to think about troublesome things. Things like, what if they couldn’t save the universe? Or what if he accidentally slipped and hugged Lance a bit too tightly that one time? What if those aliens that he’d maimed in the Coliseum were still out for his blood? And what if his frayed mind had finally reached the breaking point and was going to shatter into a billion pieces?

Work helped him keep his mind off stuff like that. Sure he went to sleep every day at some unholy hour, only to wake up the next morning at another unholy hour, sleeping fitfully the whole time, but anything was better than chasing certain thoughts down a goddamn rabbit hole of spiraling angst and depression.

_“So, we’ve talked about your current stressors, such as your current role in the Garrison, the flashbacks, and the trauma. Is there anything else you’d like to mention? Perhaps a particularly stressful memory of an event or some other outside forces?”_

Memories of Lance cradled in his arms, unconscious with wrecked internal organs bubble up in Shiro’s mind, bit by bit, including what feels like a gorgeous memory replay of Lance waking up to fire off a saving shot. It takes Shiro’s everything to not shudder at the phantom weight of a broken boy in his arms, surrounded on all sides by a ruthless enemy.

If Shiro was a braver man, maybe he would’ve stood up in that office, shouting, ‘I’ve fallen in love with my teammate and subordinate who’s eight years my junior but he’s so fucking gorgeous and brave and an absolute sweetheart with puns that make you want to stab yourself and his eyes and hair are so glossy and pretty but his voice – his voice! It’s so amazing! Sometimes it’s high-pitched and frantic and other times it’s so low and calming, like the ocean, so what should I do? He sees me as a hero and I can’t just take advantage of that, no no _no_ , and it’s killing me, on top of all the nightmares and the flashbacks and the logistical hell on this goddamn base.’

But Shiro wasn’t a braver man, so he simply shook his head, face as calm and collected as always.

“No, that’s all.”

He reaches his room and walks in, rubbing at his eyes. It was a mistake to schedule his appointment for so early in the afternoon today, especially when he was only just getting to bed right now and the clock read something in the early AM’s. The sessions always seemed to take so much out of him, and he felt so drained for the rest of the day, like a cork being popped from the casket that was Takashi Shirogane.

He punches in his access code and scans his hand. The door beeps and he walks in, feeling muddle-headed. It’s always at times like these that he wishes he’d picked up some hobby that was wholly unrelated to space. It was always star maps or satellite images or something of the like, but nothing that he could ever lose himself in, especially when he was supposed to be just... relaxing.

It wasn’t an understatement to say that during his three years in the cosmos that he’d forgotten how to relax. Hunk had cooking and engineering, Pidge had her coding and inventions, Keith had his journal, and Lance had his beauty routines and sociability. It was kind of amazing how well everyone had stayed sane despite the indescribable weight of the universe suddenly pressing down on them 24/7.

Shiro had… training. And work. And them more training. And then… more work. All to keep the panic attacks at bay and the creeping nihilism at arm’s length. It worked fairly well, but maybe it also destroyed a little part of him that was fundamental to being a well-adjusted human being.

The bed doesn’t look too bad right now though, and he cleans up and changes before falling onto the mattress. He feels bad that out of the others, he’s the only one who’s gotten such a nice single, complete with a small bathroom, but he hopes once everyone gets proper rankings their rooms will be upgraded as well.

On a whim he rolls onto his back, looking up at the fluorescent lights. He’s forgotten to turn them off, and they shine into his face now. With a blank expression, he stretches out his arms, as if he’s trying to press his palms to the ceiling. The action is slow and lazy, and he waits until the last moment to roll out his fingers joint by joint. One arm casts a black shadow on his face, a blob of black in his vision. Through the other, the light is reddish at the edges, but still another shadow. When he looks at his arms like this, they don’t seem as different. His mind tries to tug away from the superficial comfort, trying to whisper to him about hesitant handshakes and wincing, but he gets out of bed and goes to turn off the lights. His breathing in bed slows, and his eyes close.

 

Shiro’s breathing hard, fighting what seems like an endless stream of enemies. His motions are slow and sluggish, like every movement is through thick syrup. That terrifies Shiro, since his opponents are quick and agile. He forces himself to fight through the handicap, tossing the blade into another’s alien’s head as the current attacker snaps it in half. Snarling, he activates his hand and jams it straight under the wobbly blue jowls of the alien towering over him. It burns and cauterizes the flesh as it sinks in with loud sizzling, and Shiro doesn’t stop until his arm is pushing out at open air.

His entire back goes numb. Gasping, he turns around, eyes wide. There’s a child, sinking a blade into his spine with all her strength, and just like that he’s awake, staring at the ceiling not moving an inch.

The numbness fades, since after all it’s only a dream, but he’s lifting his body up and off the bed in a jumbled mess, still not getting enough air into his lungs. His eyes are taking too long to adjust, and he runs to slap at the light switch, wincing as now the room becomes too bright too fast. Light brings a semblance of order back to his mind though, and he takes stock of the room, still trying to calm his breathing without avail. As he scans and catalogues his room, he notices the bag on the counter, still untouched.

The tag is still on the shirt. As he unfurls it and hold it out in front of him, he admits that it’s not too bad. However, it’s too new, and the fabric feels almost stiff. Frowning, he cuts off the tag and throws the shirt into the hamper to wash first. To think he’d suddenly be living like a college student again after so many years. Instead, he looks through his sparse closet and takes out his old shirt with the shoulder cutouts, the one Lance had cobbled together almost a year ago, after all of their clothes were wrecked in the Altean washers. It’s soft as silk but still thin and cozy, a perfect material for right now. He slips it on, smiling as he remembers Lance and Coran frantically sewing non-stop that whole week, Lance pouting and yelling at Shiro all while gesturing about wildly with a needle. Their original clothes had steadily worn down after being worn day after day in space during those two years, and while Altean clothes were naturally sturdy, their flimsy Earth clothes finally broke down in those industrial washers.

…He never did get to thank Lance for the clothes, did he? Hunk helped cook a small feast for Lance, Pidge completely revamped Lance’s phone, and Keith actually agreed to a spa day with Lance. He’d thought about what he could do for the boy, but then things got busy and it slipped from his mind.

Another unfortunate side-effect of overworking while trying to stop a universal apocalypse/takeover. You forget about the important things.

Shiro exhales slowly falling onto his bed, folding his hands over his stomach. Maybe after they’re all done this week, he’ll go back to that confusing mall and get something for Lance. As a thank you a year late for saving them that week. He’ll play it off as a thank you for that shirt with stiff fabric, but only Shiro will know that it’s for that one blissfully hectic, blissfully peaceful week that was filled with sunshine laughs and ocean voices.

His eyes slightly lower, half-lidded and staring up at the lights, which now look like thin, blurred slivers of white, dimming down to pinpricks like the ones in Lance’s ears. He vaguely wonders if Lance was dared to poke holes in his ears like that. Maybe he was joking and laughing with all that bravado as he ran the needle over a lighter flame. Maybe he was terrified after botching a hole and splattering blood everywhere. Maybe he didn’t lose those studs – just tossed them off a bridge somewhere.

Maybe Shiro will get Lance some new earrings that will look beautiful on him, and make him feel less uneasy and terrified about those holes in his ears.

 

Lance groans, and immediately regrets it, his throat throbbing with his pulse. Scraping his cheek on the wooden floors, he tilts his head up. Max and Sam are looking at him with wide eyes, and he grabs the side of the bed to yank himself up, gasping the whole time. He hugs the two of them, whispering reassurances to both.

“Sorry ‘bout that guys. Didn’t mean to scare ya like that.”

“You okay?” Sam whispers, and Lance nods.

“You don’t sound okay,” Max says. Lance hugs her tighter.

“I’m perfectly okay,” he tells her with a chuckle. He sighs and lets go of them, leaning back to fall onto the floorboards again. He coughs, once or twice, trying to clear the blockage in his throat, but there’s a faint “stuck” feeling in his throat that won’t go away.

He hold his throat and coughs again, even if he knows it won’t work. Sam and Max peer in at his neck and wince.

“Lance…” Max begins, drawing a circle with her fingers around the center of her throat.

“Hm?”

She drags him up and pulls him to the closet mirror.

“Oh. _Oh_. Oh shi-shizzles. Um…. How am I gonna hide this? My friends are gonna freak if they see this.”

Sam’s already digging through the pile of clothes in the corner that’s Lance’s and yanks out a thin turtleneck.

“Cool, this should work,” he says, holding it up.

“Um, hate to burst your bubble, but it’s also a bajillion degrees outside during the day.”

Max is already digging out scissors, and the moment Sam tosses it over, she promptly hacks the sleeves off.

“Oh. Wait, _wait_! You can’t just cut fabric like that! You gotta hem it too!”

The two stare at him as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world, and Lance sighs and begins digging through his bag for his sewing kit.

“I got it, I got it,” he creaks out, resigned. “Also you two are gonna learn how to sew then.”

“What?! Noooo, it looks so boring!” Max yells.

“I don’t wanna learn either! Sewing’s for girls!”

Lance snaps up and frowns at Sam.

“Hey! Apologize to Sam! What’s wrong with learning ‘girl’ stuff? Also, you should learn how to sew anyways, cuz it’s important to know how to do this stuff on your own!”

Sam falters when he sees Lance’s disappointment, and he meekly turns to Max and apologizes.

“Sorry Max, there’s nothing wrong with girly stuff. Sorry Uncle Lance – you’re right, knowing how to sew is important.”

“Good,” Lance says, giving him a short pat on the head. “Both of you two sit down now, grab this shirt, and try to follow along, okay?”

“Blegh, gooooot it.”

“Alright…”

There’s a valiant effort made, but in the end everything gets botched, and he’s left putting bandaids on all the little pokes on their fingers.

 

Shiro’s comparing the stats of each Lion together with Hunk, pausing every now and then to take a drink of coffee. The only way he could fit in a therapy appointment today was in the morning, and now he needs another caffeine fix for the second time today. Hunk’s good company though, and he’s soothing to be around, his earnestness and kindness what Shiro needs right now. It helps him focus on the work, and he can feel the sluggishness being dug out of his body bit by bit.

The boy watches Shiro from the corner of his eyes as he chats about the numbers and discusses if the Lions’ different stats make Voltron unbalanced. Sometimes Shiro blinks and rubs his tired eyes, rarely running a thumb along the bridge of his nose, the dulled sensation somehow relaxing. He stays close to Hunk, but not enough that their shoulders touch, and his tone is thoughtful and polite.

Shiro is acting as normal as usual, and it’s basically what Shiro _isn't_ around Lance. Ever since last year he’ll do things like yesterday, grasping at Lance’s injuries with wide and bright eyes, his voice dipping between softness and an abnormal quickness to yelling or agitation, and he’ll be fidgeting, rubbing the bridge of his nose on instinct or grabbing at his arm to press the pads of his fingers into the metal.

Hunk’s never been good at dissecting emotions and vague cues from anyone other than himself, and he sighs and folds his arms at all these signs of _something_ that he can’t quite figure out yet.

“Hunk, are you getting tired?”

“Nah, just wondering about some stuff.”

Shiro, responsible as ever, straightens up in the chair, scooting it to the side to better face Hunk.

“Oh, do you wanna talk about it?”

Hunk shakes his head.

“I’m just thinking that you’ve been rubbing your eyes an awfully a lot. We should take a break.”

 

Lance goes to class, gauze thinly wrapped around his neck, and Keith jumps up from his seat, knocking his chair over. His jaw is slack, and he doesn’t even bother waiting for Lance to amble over first, rushing over to stare at the bandages.

“Lance, what the hell is this?!”

Lance laughs and runs a finger along the gauze, sheepish and feeling a little overheated from the extra covering. Keith leans in and Lance forces himself to not jerk away, letting Keith check the bandages, as if just by looking closely enough he can see what mysterious injury lurks underneath.

“I was playing around with Sam and Max and I slipped and hit my neck on the bannister. Damn near choked myself,” he sighs with a small shrug. His attempt to look casual about something so serious only garners an incredulous look from Keith.

“You’re an absolute dumbass, you know that?”

“Yes, yes, I know that, oh great and wonderful co-leader,” Lance says, a twinge of irritation flaring up under his skin, surging in his blood out of nowhere. He brushes past Keith and lifts up his upturned chair, all while flashing a charming smile at their teacher.

“C’mon, we gotta sit down.”

Lance’s mood is erratic, and Keith can feel it, even if he can’t see it. Grappling with irritation and rudeness while simultaneously catching himself and acting normal, only to slip again and let a teaspoon of hostility through. The boy’s see-sawing on some sort of emotional trip, and Keith is sure the answer lies under that filmy gauze over Lance’s neck. He can’t just tear it off though, and Lance is leaning away from him, so that if he tries, his hand will be whacked away.

They manage to pull through, and Keith notices how neat and orderly Lance’s notes are, and he relaxes a bit. He honestly could never do anything that tidy if his head was ever in a mess. For a moment he wonders if he’s being unreasonable. Maybe this whole thing is just old habits resurfacing, like his shock at finding out that Lance was the second youngest out of them all, and despite that he still spent all that time coaxing Keith out of paranoia and dangerous impulses. The whole thing fueled a bizarre need in Keith to be a little more protective of the others, for the sake of the frightening fact that besides Shiro, everyone in his team was younger than him.

Lance glances up at board, drawing the small diagram in a flash while also annotating it with what the lecturer’s saying. He pauses for a minute to press the pen against his lip, before putting the bare minimum of what she says down onto the paper.

Keith rolls his tongue against his teeth and focuses back on what their teacher is saying. Yes, he’s probably just overreacting.

Class ends and they move to training, but the entire time Lance has forced himself to be lost in the lecture, focusing and grasping onto anything that can keep his mind off the dull throbbing in his throat and torso, as well as keep the flashbacks of groping and kissing out of his headspace. He goes all out, but he’s still glad that class is over, even as his stomach twists and riles up his bruises. He’ll have to feed the same excuse to the others, and already a thin veil of exhaustion is settling over his entire mind, a fog that clouds his thoughts and makes just moving seem muddled and sticky. They walk into the room, and Hunk and Pidge run up. There’s so much going on in their eyes right now, but Lance knows that he can’t let his face stay blank. He must smile. He must be cheery. He has to laugh in order to ground himself and the others when it matters.

So that’s what Lance does. He smiles, makes sure his eyes crinkle up just right, barks out a short laugh that’s teasing but not disparaging, and says whatever’s on autopilot in his brain right now, the perfect pre-recorded message that he’s spent last night drilling into his head for this exact moment, namely the one where he absolutely fucking loses it.

He can’t quite hear what Pidge and Hunk are saying, or even what he’s saying, but he hopefully got in a few ‘thanks’ judging by the worried expressions on their faces. God, he’s got the best fucking friends ever; he loves them so much. Shiro’s in his face now, reaching out, and autopilot-brain jerks away, just in case it’s anther hand going for his throat or pants, but a flash of hurt only appears on the man’s face, and Lance can feel some lucidity being injected into his brain, cold and aching.

He doesn’t have the resources to be lucid right now though, and he clings to that hazy veil all draped around him, hoping that his apologies are going to be enough, trying to reassure Shiro that he shouldn’t fret over what useless people say, that Lance is rather stupid and hopeless, that he’s sorry for being stupid and hopeless, otherwise Shiro wouldn’t have to make that expression, except now that expression is shifting and becoming wobbly, like looking through thick plate of glass that’s made of rippling waves, and he can see vague shapes joining Shiro – and things have definitely taken a turn for worse no? – and since they’re all behind that rippling water-glass he can’t tell what they’re saying anymore and now he’s totally lost and his mouth must be hanging open like a dumbass because only a useless dumbass can’t understand what other people are saying and-

“Oh.”

There is warmth. Blooming warmth. Warmth wrapped all around him, golden yellow filtering into the edges of the water-glass, clearing the impurities in it while also calming the waves. Eventually the water-glass is clear and calm, and Hunk’s hugging him tightly, one hand also firmly pressed against the back of his skull.

“It’s been a really long time since you did _that_ thing,” Hunk whispers, and Lance can only reply with some noncommittal noise.

He glances up and sees Iverson, standing at the back, arms crossed, his face set in stone as usual. Lance would bet a million bucks right now that Iverson’s judging him, questioning how fit he is for service in giant robot lion, going through a mental checklist of other, far more talented pilots that he can hopefully replace Lance with. With a small push of his palms, Lance squirms out of Hunk’s grasp, and Hunk lets him.

“Thanks, I think I’ve just been really tired lately, juggling everything, you know.”

The others want to push the subject so desperately, and he can see it, but they also must be able to see how much he _doesn’t_ want to push the subject, and they’re all left unsatisfied and antsy.

It’s the perfect energy for a training session.

Lance is left to his own devices at the shooting range, giggling as he shifts his Bayard from handgun to rifle to sniper rifle. As he runs his along the length of the range, he simultaneously shifts his Bayard while taking down targets. It’s been awhile since he practiced with his Bayard like this though, and during the sniper transformation, his hand slips and the shot strays to the left.

“Dammit.”

He does a few more dry runs, focusing on how the weight of the weapons shift in his hands, practicing how to adjust his grip. Satisfied, he repeats the exercise, only now he notices that all of the shots he was satisfied with are actually skewed. Grumbling, he does nothing but go through the drills, over and over again, finding some sort of irritating fault with everything he does.

“McClain, you should take a rest.”

The voice makes Lance’s shoulders stiffen, and the shot sails up towards the head instead. The black shadow disintegrates, to Lance’s quiet horror. His Bayard flashes, and he turns around to face Iverson, the alien tech morphing back into a harmless curve of metal and polymer.

“Sir yessir,” Lance replies somewhat halfheartedly, his salute less than stellar, but for some reason Iverson doesn’t jump onto his case like how he remembers.

“You can drop the sir – whatever you all are now doesn’t even fit into rankings anymore.”

The words put Lance at a loss, and he stares at Iverson with a little confusion. Maybe he was wrong and the two years have mellowed out _something_ in the old bastard.

“McClain, a sniper needs to protect their eyes and hands, you understand?”

Right on cue, an ache begins to seep into Lance’s hands, and he looks down to see red smeared all over his palms. He’s reopened all the cuts on his hands.

“Ah, shit,” he mutters, going straight towards the corner of the range for the first aid kit. He cleans his hands and smears antiseptic all over his palms, but Iverson won’t leave for some goddamn reason, standing at perfect rest with his arms folded resolutely behind his back. He’s acting like a statue, guarding the exit.

Two years ago, maybe Lance would’ve been anxious and worried, but now he’s just irritated and feeling even more annoyed at the stinging in his hands. He doesn’t care anymore. This must be like what it's like to have job immunity, and even if he doesn’t deserve Paladin job-immunity, he’s sure as hell gonna abuse it while he can.

“What’re you here for, ‘Commander’? Trying to figure out which latest recruit you can cherry-pick to replace me? With any luck, I’ll kick it soon, but until then, you’re stuck with good ol’ second-rate and absolute fuck-up Lance McClain.”

The words spill from his lips with far more venom than he’s expecting, and he practically snarls at the aging man, like some sort of immature kid. He immediately regrets opening his mouth, but pride and hesitation make him unsure and unwilling to apologize.

Iverson just keeps speaking.

“Your hands, McClain?”

“Climbing.”

“Shoulder and arms?”

“Bike crash.”

“Shins?”

 “Stairs.”

“Neck?”

“A bannister.”

He grits his teeth as he realizes that that’s one stair accident too many. With a strained grin, he looks up at Iverson, wondering what the man’s trying to grasp at, or judging by the thoughtful face, what he’s already grabbed ahold of. A nervous tic kicks in, and Lance begins to toss his Bayard from hand from hand, shifting it’s form each time as it arcs through the air, from handgun to default, default to handgun.

“A kid shouldn’t try to be a hero.”

It’s as if Iverson’s offering him a golden thread, but he has to coat it in poison first, because he doesn’t know any other way to address the misfits that he used to hold up as an example for the rest of the class. The handgun falls into Lance’s hand, and he can only slump further into his seat, exhaustion sinking deeper and deeper into him as he realizes that how much he doesn’t want to play and fight with words today. It’s too much thinking, too much subterfuge for his battered and spent body. His bones are melting, dragging the rest of his body into the ground. The giant, invisible pins skewering his slumped body through the seat and into the ground work slowly, piercing through his skin and muscle before perforating organs and other tissues in order to exit his body.

...This is so stupid.

He rips that mental pin of self-pity out of himself and takes the extra time and effort to straighten out his back. His posture is perfect when he replies, smiling and relaxed.

“I may be a kid in a grown-up’s body, but I managed to take care of myself even before all of this. I’m going to be fine.”

He pauses to think over something, then laughs and fires off a shot from his seat at the far end of the room. The beam travels in a straight line, burning a hole through the chest of a target sheltered in the back by other targets. It’s a superb shot, one that makes even Iverson gape a little.

“I wouldn’t have pegged you for being one of those ‘jerks with a heart of gold’, y’know, Commander?” he teases, creeping around the stunned man, now that Bayard training is over. Lance’s getting people’s concern from the weirdest places today, but he’d be lying if he said he didn’t appreciate it. His smile grows a little wider as he waves at everyone from down the hall, all of them already about to go change into their suits.

 

They can’t form Voltron without Allura here, but as Pidge soars through the aerial obstacle course, she wonders if they could even with Allura here. The tension in the air around Lance is thick and heavy, dragging down on everyone’s interactions with him, including her. His injuries make her skin crawl, and his freak out this afternoon has only heightened everyone’s tense nerves, super-coiling them like the chromosomes she read about one night for fun.

On one hand, she gets why Lance’s instability is making them all feel so much worse. She fires off a shot from her lion into the shell hurtling toward her, and right at that moment she also sends off another helpful shot towards a quick enemy heading towards Hunk.

“Thanks Pidge!”

“No prob!”

She twists her cameras to check on the Red lion, watching it move fast and hit hard with pinpoint precision. When Keith was piloting Red, it moved so smoothly that it seemed almost inhuman. Lance can’t pilot quite like that, but he hits better than Keith ever could, his brain only able to jump from focus to focus, while Keith looked at everything and only everything.

And that’s why it feels so _wrong_ that Lance isn’t doing alright. Lance is a constant in all of their lives, the sensitive and attentive jokester that replaces the existential fears with something easier to deal with, like annoyance with a terrible joke or a fun need to poke at the boy’s buttons.

“We’re too spoiled,” Pidge mutters to herself, brutally plunging the paw of Green down onto a dummy jet, smashing it into two pieces.

They’re too used to Lance taking care of them, and not the other way around.

“Paladins, come back down,” Shiro tells them over their comms. They all chirp back random affirmations, and settle down into their designated spaces in the hangar. Shiro greets them all warmly, but a frown crosses his face, and their expressions all grow pained. Pidge rubs at her eyes, trying not to groan. Of course Lance is the missing one.

 

“C’mon Gorgeous! Lemme out!”

Lance presses the switch for the cockpit hatch, but it still doesn’t open.

“Red!”

His tone is almost pleading, and he goes back to the controls, pressing on the intercom.

“Guys, Red won’t let me out!”

“What?!” Shiro shouts.

“I said, Red won’t let-!”

“No, I heard you! Why isn’t she letting you out?!”

“I dunno! The manual override isn’t working either!”

“Lance!” Hunk yells, jumping in. “Gimme a sec! I’ll open it from the outside!”

Lance blanches, and the moment he sees Hunk heading over he quickly shoots that suggestion down.

“No! Don’t hurt her!”

He groans and he can’t focus on what the others are all yelling as he holds his head in his hands. The bandages itch under this suit, but he can’t do anything about it. Max and Sam will need to be picked up at any moment now, and he doesn’t know what to do.

It’s been a terrible day, to say the least.

“Lance! Are these Sam and Max?!”

Speak of the devil. Also, how the hell did Keith crack open his locker to get that?

“Uncle!”

“Lance!”

Oh god what is he gonna tell them? He sighs and presses the button for the intercoms again.

“Um, sorry guys! Some stuff happened, and um… I might be really late today.”

“Whaaaat? But you’re the bestest, awesome-est uncle ever!” Max gushes, purposely tugging on his heartstrings.

“That’s right!” Sam says, perfectly timing his entrance. Dammit, the two have this coordinated.

“You’re the best, uncle Lance! You can do anything right? C’moooon! Come pick us up!”

Lance can feel his face absolutely soaking up blood, all warm and flushed. The others are covering their mouths, shaking, while some of the staff just don’t care and are openly hunched over with laughter.

“G-guys, please. You’re on speakerphone,” he whisper as quietly as one can over an intercom, trying to discourage them, but the two of them only grow louder.

“Awesome-est uncle in the whole universe!”

“Super-Uncle!”

“Nothing can stop the Amazing Lance!”

Lance cuts off the comm and rushes over to the hatch, banging on it with his fist.

“Red, Reeeeed! Don’t do this to me! Nooooo, c’mon, just let me out! We can’t leave Max and Sam stranded, y’know?!”

Red doesn’t even acknowledge Lance’s pleas, and the boy almost bursts into tears from frustration and embarrassment.

“Reeeeed! Why don’t you want me to go home?!”

Lance’s hand stops mid-whack, his eyes wide. A tangle of limbs later and he’s clumsily collapsed to the floor in a sloppy criss-cross-applesauce.

“You… You _don’t want me to go home_ , right?”

He looks at the inside of Red with blank eyes, his face neutral with shock. Tears sting his eyes, and he laughs and lies on his side, unable to muster anymore strength to stay upright.

“Ah, I love you too, Gorgeous.”

He stays there, still and tired, before rolling onto his stomach, his face still half-pressed into the floor.

“Still, I can’t just leave the kiddies all alone y’know? It’s dangerous.”

Red’s screens flicker, and the cameras focus and zoom in on all of his friends. She won’t give him any leeway.

“Alright, alright, I promise,” Lance says, “I’ll stay on the base tonight.”

At that the hatch opens with a hiss, and Lance finally climbs out, face relieved. The others crowd him, and Pidge uses her smaller size to squeeze to the front.

“So?” she demands.

Lance shrugs and tugs at his collar.

“Red’s a bit antsy today, so I promised her that I’d stay on the base today.”

“That’s perfect! We can finally have Game Night!” Pidge exclaims, grabbing Lance’s arms. Lance tries to back off for a tick, but recovers and lets her hold him. Keith cuts in fast before she can say anymore though.

“No, he has to help me study first – he took better notes today.”

“Blegh, fine, but you better help me carry then snacks from the mess hall then!”

Lance laughs and turns to Hunk, eyes pleading for help.

“Sorry Hunk, can I stay in your room tonight, and er… can you also bring Sam and Max home? It’s not safe for them to walk alone. They’re at the elementary school nearby.”

“That’s fine, I can definitely do that!”

Hunk glances over at Shiro, then decides to try something, not sure how it’s going to end up.

“Wouldn’t you prefer to stay in Shiro’s room though? It’s bigger, and there’s a couch too.”

“Forreal?! That’s so not fair Shiro!”

“I’ll go see Sam and Max then,” Hunk says, taking his leave. He’s due to meet up with Shiro tomorrow as well to keep discussing their projects. If he’s acting any different, then Hunk will definitely try to figure it all out. Besides, Lance looks like he needs the sleep, and a couch is more comfortable than being on the ground or crowding together on a too small bed.

 

Hunk _knows_.

Or at least he suspects something, and that terrifies Shiro. Once Hunk knows, _everyone_ knows. Why else would he give up a chance to spend a night with his best friend?

Shiro stands there, planning out what to say before he starts stuttering out nonsense, and he knows he has precious few seconds to get his shit together while Pidge and Keith are crowding Lance, bombarding him with a list of things to do.

“Seriously Keith? At this rate, we’ll never get to Game Night! Lance, lemme help out!”

“You sure? Er, no offense Pidge, but we aren’t geniuses.”

“But I _can_ smack some note-taking skills into Keith’s head, right?”

“…Is that even possible?”

“Listen, both of you, I’m _right here_? And I can take notes!”

“-here, I took a picture of Keith’s notes once.”

“Holy crap that’s kinda amazing. How does he find anything?”

“He doesn’t. he just tries to remember where he wrote something.”

“Jesus.”

“You two-!”

“Yep, this definitely needs a Pidge intervention. Also I’m gonna kick your ass at Space Blasters when you’re done.”

“Like I’m gonna let you.”

“Just admit defeat already.”

Shiro sees his way in and goes for it.

“Have fun you guys, but make sure to not overdo it, alright? We still have training tomorrow, and don’t think that just ‘cuz you’re on base you can sleep in that much more, Lance.”

Pidge snickers and she and Lance stop mock-wrestling, stepping back so that their pressed palms and intertwined fingers are now only loosely connected.

“Awwww, Space Dad needs his sleep,” she says. Lance and Keith both freeze up, trying very hard to not burst into laughter, but Shiro rolls his eyes and plays along.

“As a matter of fact, yes, he does need his sleep, and he doesn’t want to hear Lance banging on the door at four a.m.,” he sighs. That’s a complete lie, but the others don’t need to know that what he’s considered “sleeping” for the last three years is what his psychiatrist calls an “unhealthy and self-destructive pattern of behavior”.

Nope, they don’t need to know that.

Lance’s eyes widen, and he leans in, pulling in Pidge along for the ride, much to her chagrin.

“You mean I can actually stay in your room then?”

His eyes are shining, and Shiro makes sure to look to the side before he answers.

“Yes.”

Looking away was a smart move. Lance beams, and Shiro knows that if he’d taken that smile head on he would’ve been vaporized. Instead, he's satisfied with a good peek from the corner of his eyes. But as always, Lance surprises him. The boy refuses to let go of Pidge, so he leans forward and falls into Shiro’s chest for an arm-less hug. Pidge squawks as she trips forward, Keith stumbling forward in surprise to catch her.

“Thanks, Shiro!”

Lance’s shoulder and head is pressing into Shiro’s chest, and he honest to god hopes the boy can’t feel his heartbeat right now, speeding up to a grand total of “too many” beats per minute. Lance’s hair has become overgrown while in space, to point that sometimes he pushes it out of his eyes, and right now those dark-brown locks are right under Shiro’s chin. If he wants, he could just reach up (with his left hand!) and ruffle Lance’s hair, then play it off by saying “no problem”. It’s a fool-proof plan, and he begins to reach up-

Keith breathes out the breath he’s been holding as he has Pidge’s waist safely in his arms, and she gives Lance a sharp tug.

“Sorry, but the only thing standing between me and impending doom right now are Keith’s arms, so…”

“Oh! My bad!”

Lance straightens up, lifting Pidge while he’s at it. Shiro plays off his raised arm by going to feel the back of his neck, feeling not irritation, but something akin to his mind trying to be annoyed, and giving up. Keith starts to tell Lance to be more careful, and true to form Lance’s expression grows exasperated and he stands behind Pidge. Lance’s soft hair rustles from the movement, and Shiro sighs on the inside.

 

“Aaaaand, there!” Pidge declares.

Lance’s ship explodes into brightly colored pixels, and he screams and falls backwards with all the dramatic flair he can muster.

“Nooooo!”

Pidge giggles and looks over Lance, confidence oozing from her every pore.

“One more round?” she asks sweetly. Lance is back to his old self, so she doesn’t hold back. So far she’s set all the high scores on this console so far.

Lance groans and shoves a mouthful of popcorn into his mouth. God he’s missed the junk food on earth so much.

“One more!” he snaps, crawling up, when his gaze drifts onto the clock on the wall. “Aw man, _actually_ only one more.”

“The night is still young,” Pidge mutters, knowing full well that her sleep schedule is definitely a few hours off compared to everyone else. Lance wonders if he can grab the soda near the TV without standing up, rolling onto his stomach and trying to wriggle along on his belly to get it. He gets maybe an inch in before flopping flat. Soda’s a lost cause then.

“Okay then! One more round,” he announces, sitting up properly this time. He grabs at the well-worn controllers and starts a new round while Pidge is still a foot away from her own controller.

“Oh what the-?! You serious?! Fine, I’ll still beat your ass!”

She scrambles for her controller and starts firing at enemies, his fingers tapping at the buttons on the controller at light speed. Even Lance’s smooth and nimble movements look clumsy and ineffective next to her.

Right on cue, Pidge beats him soundless, and he puts down the controller for the final time that night.

“Dude, we need to do this more,” he says, arms folded and tiny pout on his lips. “If I can’t practice then I’ll never win.”

“Yeah, but you’re always taking care of your niece and nephew.”

Lance’s pout grows a little more pronounced, and he crunches in on himself.

“I mean, I… Carmen’s working really hard to make sure they have a place of their own. While she’s doing that the least I can do is…”

Pidge raises her arms in apology.

“Sorry, wasn’t trying to guilt trip you. We haven’t been able to hang out for awhile though, y’know? You have to leave everyday right before free time starts, but now that we know Shiro’s willing to let you stay over, sometimes you should hop on back over once Sam and Max are all fed.”

“Damn, you’re right,” Lance groans, pushing back at his bangs. “Yeah, I should do that more.”

It’s good way to get him out of the house, and he can spend more time with Keith and Hunk and Pidge doing stuff that _isn’t_ training. It feels like he’s been doing nothing but cleaning up the house and cooking for everyone and taking care of Sam and Max ever since coming back. Even though he’s around all his friends everyday, he can’t help but miss them sometimes at home. It’s the first time that they’ve been consistently separated during free time in two years. Even though they’ve all wanted to kill each other at some point, being trapped in the Castle together like that, they’ve also all gotten too used to each other’s company.

Lance gasps and sits up with a jolt.

“Oh my god!”

Pidge frowns, and Lance is looking over like they’ve all committed some unforgivable crime.

“We haven’t been to the beach yet!”

“Um, I’m gonna burn so-!”

“We haven’t been to the beaches yet, oh my god. That’s it, we need to plan a beach day, pronto!”

He scrambles for his phone, the old laziness wiped away in a second as he frantically begins sending messages into the group chat. Pidge whines as her own phone starts to ding.

“Lance, I _burn_!”

“Sunscreen!”

“Sand’s gonna get everywhere!”

“That’s part of the fun!”

“I don’t have a swimsuit!”

“That’s why we’re all gonna go swimsuit shopping!”

Lance immediately sends in his extra addition to the itinerary to the chat, and Pidge sighs as more agreements from Keith and Hunk start to come in.

It’s too late – she’s been roped into an outdoors activity.

 

Lance is all smiles as he knocks on Shiro’s door, and there’s some rustling from behind before Shiro opens it.

“Hey Lance. I found an extra blanket for you and it’s on the couch, so make yourself comfortable.”

“Cool, thanks!”

He walks in, and his eyes widen.

“There’s so much space!”

The man tries to not look sheepish, but it doesn’t work, and he shuts the door behind them as Lance wanders around, looking at everything.

“Er, I’m trying to get all of you guys nicer rooms too, but until everyone has some kind of official title or ranking, you guys are stuck in the normal rooms.”

Lance falls onto the couch and sighs.

“This is so soft too! Better than the floor, that’s for sure!”

Shiro laughs and paces a little, looking over everything.

“Did you really think I was gonna make you sleep on the floor?” he jokes, grateful that he’s naturally a neat person. Still, he double checks that there’s nothing too offending sticking out. Lance kicks his shoes off and eases off his socks to fall onto the couch.

“Shiro, we need to go to the beach soon,” Lance says, and Shiro’s head snaps around so fast that he pulls something.

 _We_? As in, just the two of them?

Or…

“I was talking with Pidge, and I realized that we haven’t gone to the beach yet! We need to all go shopping for swimsuits this weekend, and so far everyone has decided on-,” Lance checks his phone, “-next Friday evening to actually go to the beach.”

Lance hangs his back over the arm of the couch, waving his phone about.

“That way we can get all our work done, and relaxing will be extra nice with everything out of the way. Also Pidge doesn’t want to burn.”

Shiro sees the phone, and his memory jolts.

“Oh! Give me your number, Lance!”

He pulls his phone out of his pocket and hands it over to Lance, who’s looking at him, upside down and wide-eyed.

“What?”

“Remembered when I called your home? I realized that still didn’t have your cellphone number. I’ll text you so that you can add me to your contacts as well. Plus, it’ll make planning everything easier, right? Text me what time you guys wanna go shopping, since I can give us all a ride.”

Shiro stifles a smile as Lance gratefully accepts the phone. Mission accomplished.

“I got it, but…”

Lance slyly peeks out from behind.

“Can we all actually fit in that car?”

Shiro yanks the comforter over Lance just in time, and the boy laughs and fights against the fabric. While Lance struggles, Shiro exhales deeply. That look was making him sweat in seconds; a little longer and he would’ve done something stupid. Lance gasps and emerges from his blanket prison, laughing to himself and holding out Shiro’s phone.

“Here ya’ go!”

The self-depreciation and dissociation from this afternoon seem like a faint dream compared to the smiling boy now, and Shiro plucks the phone out of Lance’s fingers, his face flushing. This is terrible, how is he going to sleep knowing that a person so bright and warm is nearby?

_Why did he agree to this?_

Lance replies in seconds, his fingers tapping and Shiro’s phone dinging faster than expected.

[Sat. @ 10 AM! ٩(๑❛ʚ❛๑)۶]

“Sent!” Lance announces, mimicking the emoticon.

Oh. That’s why.

 

“I think I have some clothes you can borrow. They’ll be big, but you can manage, right?”

“Shiro, I was born and raised in hand-me-downs,” Lance scoffs, “I’ve mastered the art of working too-big shirts and too-long pants.”

“Alright then,” Shiro says, unconvinced as he tosses Lance a pair of shorts and a t-shirt. Lance catches both and looks them over for a second, but seems unperturbed.

“Thanks. I’m gonna take a shower then, is that cool?”

“Sure, I’ve already taken one.”

Lance shuts the door to the bathroom, and it’s not until Shiro hears water running that he gives himself a moment to panic. He sits at his table, hands folded on his lap as he takes stock of the current situation. Lance is sleeping over at his room tonight, and he’s taking a shower right now. He’s feeling better compared to earlier in the day, and in maybe ten, fifteen minutes he’s going to reappear, hair wet, wearing Shiro’s oversized clothes, probably looking impossibly cute. They’re going to talk for awhile, Shiro’s heart is going to simultaneously hurt and swell, and Lance will overall make him feel better.

Shiro goes through the logic of everything, satisfied enough with the endgame. He distracts himself by making plans for the weekend, creating order and predictability to soothe himself, even if he knows that might not happen, with everyone’s different tastes and varying levels of picky-ness. Frowning, he feels at the skin under his shirt. There’s places that are scarred and permanently the texture of tumorous chicken skin, along with plain ol' lacerations. Some are neat, but they're mostly crooked, rough, and jagged, all bumpy at the edges.

He’ll need to get a wetsuit, for sure. The water stops, and Shiro’s thankful that he’s already changed. Lance doesn’t come out though. A full ten minutes pass, to the point that Shiro’s getting worried, when Lance reappears, fresh bandages on his arms, hands, and neck.

“Hey, sorry for hogging the bathroom.”

“It’s fine. You found the first-aid kit, I see.”

“Yea, it was really well-stocked,” Lance notes, holding his chin. His hair is still damp and tousled from a towel, clinging to the sides of his face and around his eyes. Shiro should also give Lance more credit when it comes to fashion. Like he said, he’s made it work. The shirt can’t be helped, but he’s rolled the waistband of the shorts to make them less long, and at a more reasonable length. Lance pushes back his hair, slicking it back, and Shiro pretends to be engrossed in his phone.

“Oh yea, Shiro? Do you have an extra toothbrush?”

Damn.

“No, I always figured I’d just get a new one from the store on base so…”

Lance goes over and starts putting on his socks and shoes.

“To the store then!”

“I’ll come with,” Shiro blurts out, hoping that he doesn’t sound suspiciously excited.

“I thought you already were,” Lance laughs.

They chat about everything as they walk, the two of them under-dressed and walking along a mixture of dark and lit up halls.

“Shiro, what kind swinsuit are you going to get?”

“Oh, I think I’ll just get a wetsuit.”

“You know how to surf?!”

Lance looks so excited, but Shiro smiles faintly, tilting his head to the side.

“No, it’s more like my scars are a bit eyecatching, so I’d rather not.”

“Do you not like the attention or the scars?” Lance asks, staring up with such large, clear eyes.

Sometimes Shiro wonders if Lance feigns innocence while asking those deceptively simple-sounding questions. He mulls over his answer, pretending like it’s not a huge thing that’s been eating away at his mind for so long.

“Mm, a little of both, I guess.”

“That sucks. Bad attention is always crappy, but I hope one day your scars won’t bother you as much.”

Lance wears his heart on his sleeve, but he picks his words carefully, and when his voice has that calm, quiet tone, Shiro appreciates the boy’s earnestness all that much more.

“Thank you, Lan- “

“Scars, especially ones that you hate are hard to like, but that’s exactly why you should try even harder to like them. Even if it’s something stupid, like, oh, the shape of this one looks cool, you should just say it for the heck of it. Romanticize the hell out of those lil’ fuckers. In the end, they’re yours, and no one else’s. That’s a little special all on its own, right?”

Shiro watches Lance in quiet shock, but the boy is the same as ever, looking ahead, his hands on his hips. Suddenly he slams his foot on the ground and swivels around to face Shiro, making him back up in surprise.

“Besides! Your face is still fine, and that’s what matters!”

Lance is waggling a finger in Shiro’s face, and the man stares back in shock. The confusion fades fast enough though, and he begins to laugh warmly and loudly, rubbing at the bridge of his nose.

“I mean, are you sure? There’s this one here-!”

“But it’s a sexy scar!”

God kill him now. Lance thinks this scar is _sexy_.

“Can you imagine if you’d lost an eye instead, or if you lost a piece of your face?”

Nevermind, that’s a little less sexy.

“Like, just your cheek ripped off, and your teeth all exposed like that?”

Nope, not sexy anymore.

“Or what of you got scalped – that could’ve happened too.”

No, Shiro does _not_ want to think about that.

More gruesome possibilities fall out of Lance’s mouth, and Shiro stops him in mock horror, and maybe a little actual horror too.

“Jeez, you and Hunk need to lay down on the horror movies!”

“Nah, Keith and Pidge are competing right now to see who can find the more fucked up movie.”

Shiro gapes at Lance, then politely closes his mouth and sighs.

“Why… Why am I not surprised?”

“Because it’s Pidge and Keith. ‘Nuff said.”

They reach the store and pick a cheap toothbrush, all while discussing the individual specifics of what Keith and Pidge like in horror movies.

“So Pidge really, really likes her psychological and body horror-“

“-But Keith leans more towards good old-fashioned slashers, right?”

“How’d you guess?”

“Three words: Texas. Chainsaw. Massacre.”

“Wait…”

“The original, the sequels, _and_ the reboots.”

“Oh my god. And you _let him_?”

“We had a Friday the 13th marathon too. I sacrificed Matt when it came to Freddy Kreuger though.”

Lance is staring wide eyed at Shiro as they go to the cashier.

“First of all, how did you sleep? Two, no wonder Pidge is killing it so far. Keith’s just too old school… Or… is he not old school enough?” Lance puzzles.

“That’s why I sacrificed Matt in the end. What’s Pidge doing?”

“She made us watch Jacob’s Ladder. _Jacob’s. Ladder_.” Lance says, grimacing. “I will never un-see some of that crap, ever.”

“I’ll keep that name in mind.”

“You’re not good with horror?”

Shiro stays stubbornly silent, pretending that he doesn’t hear as he pays the lady with his card. Lance brightens, and he ducks in close, simultaneously pushing away Shiro’s hand to hand over his own card.

“Oh my gosh. You’re bad with horror?”

The lady is already swiping Lance’s card, to Shiro’s frustration, and he resists the urge to pout.

“If that goes on the groupchat, you’re doing extra PT tomorrow.”

“Gah! Fine, then that’s just between us then.”

As they talk and bicker, the lady is looking between the two of them strangely as she puts the toothbrush inside a plastic bag, her eyes narrowed.

“You do realize that relations between superiors and subordinates are not allowed?” she complains, her voice shrill.

The two of them look at her in confusion, but Lance’s face grows flushed as he realizes how they both look. Shiro’s obviously older, but the two of them joking around, all while Shiro talks about PT. The final nail in the coffin is Lance dressed in Shiro’s oversized clothes looking like they’ve just had a great time.

Shiro coughs politely, but the professionalism is lost, since his own face is completely tomato red.

“I assure you miss, it’s not like that. He’s just…”

Shiro’s mouth opens and closes a few times as he wonders just how the hell to explain this situation. How does one explain that the reason there’s a boy eight years his junior with him joking with him and wearing his clothes is because that boy made a promise to a giant robot lion to not go home tonight, and Shiro offered to let him stay in his room temporarily?

“You know what? Nevermind.” Shiro sighs, “C’mon, let’s go.”

The answer is that there is no answer. The two of them silently walk out of the store, and it’s only when they’re back in the safety of the hallways again that Shiro speaks up.

“I can never go back in there ever again.”

“Sure you can. Just go whenever she’s not there.”

Lance rubs at his cuticles uneasily, and Shiro can’t help but place a hand on Lance’s shoulder and smile. As usual, Shiro kicks himself for using the wrong arm, especially when Lance stiffens for a moment.

“I’m only joking. Everything’s going to be fine.”

“I know, but my big sis works here, and it’s gonna be awkward if she hears anything weird.”

That’s new.

“You’re sister’s Garrison?”

“Logistics. She’s one of the smartest people you’ll ever meet, honestly.”

“In that case, I wonder if I’ll see her soon.”

“Who knows?”

They chat easily and freely, and maybe it’s because Shiro’s in love or maybe it’s because Lance is understanding and upbeat, but he doesn’t think about any of his worries, thoroughly engaged in their conversation. Lance tucks some hair behind his ear, and Shiro can see the piercing holes again. This weekend he needs to get earrings too, not just a wetsuit.

Lance curls up on the couch while Shiro hides under the covers in the dark.

“Goodnight, Lance,” Shiro says, wondering if that sounds strange to Lance. He waits for the reply, but Lance seems to have no qualms.

“Night.”

The couch is way more comfortable than the ground back home, and the AC is at just the right level. Lance drifts off to sleep the fastest he’s ever done in a long time, and he wonders if he’ll actually get a full night’s sleep for once.

That is, until noises in the middle of the night wake him up. He’s confused and dazed, blind until his eyes adjust. The entire time though, he can hear Shiro groaning and murmuring something too quiet for him to hear. When he can finally make out general shapes and varying shades of gray, he tiptoes his way to the bed.

Shiro’s in the throes of a nightmare, shuddering and sweating in bed, moaning and saying a whole slew of things that Lance can’t understand. He kneels by the bed for a moment, watching Shiro in silence. The man continues to suffer, but all Lance does is watch. Satisfied that Shiro won’t lash out or hit anything, Lance leans over Shiro and hugs the man around the shoulders, stroking his hair and humming out a faint melody that he barely remembers. Sam and Max have nightmares too, and this always works, so he hums and hold Shiro tight, feeling him shudder in his arms and waiting for him to calm down in his sleep.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally uploaded this! Hope you guys all like this one too. The chapter ended up being a lot longer than I expected...


	5. Water Sapphires

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Soul searching goes together oddly well with pretty stones.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finished with summer finals, thank god. This thing was THIRTY PAGES what the heeeeck?! Anyways, I love everyone's who left me a comment so far, those things are FUELING ME.
> 
> Had to write some uncomfortable stuff for this chapter, so check the tags again before ya read.
> 
> Also, I got writers' block, so I made myself a random playlist; maybe it'll also help you out of a jam:  
> https://open.spotify.com/user/coinflip785/playlist/2FzLlVo938URAEGsoPNJo2

They’re drugging him, poking holes in his body with needles while he’s strapped down to the table. What’s next? A leg? An eye?

It could be anything, and that terrifies him. He fights the dullness in his body as the anesthesia kicks in, straining against restraints that chafe and cut into his body. To the side they prepare the circular saw, testing it with an ominous whirring sound, and Shiro sweats ice as he realizes what’s about to happen. He’s awake, but the tranquilizers have paralyzed him.

“No, no, nonononono,” Shiro whispers, struggling with all his might, even as his body grows heavier and heavier. He goes limp, and the Druids pick up the saw, lazily discussing between themselves what to take next. He can only pray helplessly that they don’t take the other arm. He still wants to feel and touch things – if they take that, he’ll be cut off from the world. One of his senses won’t be taken away, but it’ll be permanently diluted and weakened; an irrevocable difference from others. He’ll be an even bigger freak, even more broken and disrupted as a human being.

He needs to keep the rest of his limbs, he can’t get too many turned into weapons, because he’s even more scared about what might happen to his head. If he’s not careful, will he become a monster?

The saw moves towards his left arm, and he weakly fights the restraints. Every tooth of the saw spins and vibrates before his eyes, and breathing suddenly becomes very hard, like as if there’s a huge metal plate crushing his chest. His heart hurts as it beats faster and faster, and with the last bit of strength he has left, he lets out a single sob.

He forces himself to close his eyes, dreading every second he hears it coming closer and closer, feeling the wind from the blade brush against his skin. It’s going to cut into him at any moment, and Shiro finally gives up.

It’s doesn’t matter anymore. Nothing does. He’ll become that monster, bitter and cruel, but most importantly unfeeling and cold. At least like that, the pain will dull, and he can trick himself into something that could be considered peacefulness.

_Laugh, Shiro! Laugh!_

Shiro’s eyes snap open, and his jaw drops. The Druids are frozen in position, still holding a saw an inch away from his arm. He backs away from the blade, the straps sliding off as if they’d never been fastened. Bubbles float up around him from the movement, sparkling like molten blobs of silver, and he realizes that the entire place is submerged in sunlit water. Smells like antiseptic and blood still waft in, but the harsh white and purple lighting is gone, replaced by warmth and natural light. In the distance, he can hear a small tune being hummed, muffled and unclear.

_“We’re alive, Shiro!”_

It’s a warm voice that’s dripping with life, golden and iridescent, and Shiro spins around, eyes wide and his heart speeding up for a different reason now.

Right at that moment Lance leans in to wrap his arms around Shiro’s shoulders. He’s dressed in something light and filmy, the cloth swirling about in the water, strands of pearls and iolite chips flaring up from his arms, ears and neck.

The humming is coming from Lance, Shiro realizes, and he ignores how odd it is that Lance is so close yet sounds so faint, and how Lance is wearing something that Shiro is pretty sure came from an old comic book he read a long, long time ago.

Lance is stabilizing him, bathing his nightmare in sunlight and water. It can’t erase the nightmare, but it holds the fears at bay; paralyzes the harbingers – reminds Shiro that he’s human, through and through, with all the strengths and weaknesses that that entails.

The boy’s weight around his shoulders is lighter than Shiro expects, since he thought the boy was heavier than this, but he remembers the water and blames it on the buoyancy. He relaxes to the sound of humming in his ears and arms around him, when he realizes with a start that it’s awfully rude to leave Lance hanging like this. He leans into Lance’s arms and wraps his arms around the boy’s waist, pulling him in close and tight. The scent of antiseptic and herbs clings to Lance’s skin and hair, and he buries his face into Lance’s soft, glossy brown locks. If he could do this every day, Shiro bets he’d actually start liking the smell of medicine again, like before. His parents always teased him about how he liked the cloying scents of medicine and disinfectant, but it was a specific mix that he liked the most, weird kid that he was. It had to be faint, not overpowering, and the clean smell needed to be mixed into something thick and medicinal, like the herbal remedies that his parents would indulge in every now and then.

People always gush about how memory is strongly linked to a person’s sense of smell, so maybe that’s what’s happening here. The smell used to remind him of nostalgia and safety, and simple worries that were almost relaxing. Lance smells like this in his dream right now, and Shiro indulges in it to his heart’s content, cuddling this Dream-Lance as tightly as he can without hurting the boy, even nuzzling their faces together. Lance’s skin is just as smooth and soft as it looks, and Shiro doesn’t hold back, trying to commit to memory how every part of Lance feels right now in his dream. If he can’t do it in real life, he’ll try to remember this fantasy at least, for later use.

A blaring phone alarm drags him back to reality in a jumbled crash, his head suddenly floating around in a Garrison room. Sunlight is streaming in through his window, and he groans and blindly reaches out, the tip of his finger just barely scraping the screen to snooze the alarm. Something’s different about this morning though. He actually feels… refreshed. Like he slept well, _somehow_. Confused, he adjusts his grip around the pillow between his arms.

Wait.

He only has one pillow.

Shiro already knows what has happened, but still, he forces himself to look. Sure enough, he’s hugging Lance right now. The boy’s not even spooning him, his face firmly pressed into Shiro’s chest. Shiro’s caught between being horrified and being elated that this is literally the stuff of dreams for him, until Lance mumbles sleepily and presses into Shiro a little.

Elated. Definitely.

 

Lance is fairly sure that Shiro’s pecs must be a little slice of heaven. They’re soft yet firm, and way too relaxing to press into. The alarm’s been snoozed, but Shiro still seems a little dazed. Groaning, he finally opens his eyes and reluctantly scoots away from Shiro.

“Mn, g’morning.”

The man coughs a little, his face scarlet, and Lance doesn’t blame him. He can feel the heat rushing to his own cheeks right now, dark and flushed.

“Um, morning, Lance. How did you… Get in here?”

“You were having a nightmare, so I was trying to make you feel better. I didn’t expect you to grab me though.”

Shiro’s jaw drops and he starts to untangle himself form Lance, but the boy whines and stops Shiro from doing so.

“Wait! It’s so cozy right now!”

“I’m so sorry, Lance! It must’ve been real stressful to get grabbed like that. Next time just wake me up!”

Lance chuckles and shakes his head, letting his body slump in Shiro’s arms.

“No, it’s fine! You seemed to be doing better holding someone, and plus…” Lance’s voice drifts off into something sweet and nostalgic. “It’s been awhile since I shared a bed with someone. I used to share a bed with the twins, y’know? Been years though, since kids grow fast and everything.”

Shiro watches Lance’s eyes drift close as he reminisces. He won’t tell Shiro that he doesn’t think that anyone’s ever held him so tenderly like that before; that he can barely remember a time when he wasn’t constantly craving human contact and warmth.

Lance doesn’t know when the cravings started, just that they were vague and _hungry_. He would hold and cuddle with the twins when they were little, but they grew bigger, until Lance couldn’t fit on the bed with them anymore.

Hunk and Pidge saved him. Hunk never questioned whenever Lance suddenly asked Hunk to hold him. The stress and unease would build, and he’d go to his roommate, just tinkering with machinery on his bed, and ask Hunk to hold him. And Hunk always would, without asking a single question. They’d share a small, hard mattress whenever the urges were especially strong. Pidge was confused and unsure at first, but when she’d finally agreed, Lance giddily pulled her into his lap and nestled his face into the crook of her neck, sighing so happily that it was almost comical. She merely groaned and complained to Hunk, and then would absentmindedly get to work programming, all while Lance clung to her.

For the first time, it seemed like he could get these urges handled, and it was like a wish come true. Then Voltron happened.

On one hand, they were thrown into a never-ending rat race that tired him out so much, he could barely think about cuddling half the time. On the other hand, when he did need human contact, there was absolutely no privacy in the goddamn Castle where he could hug someone long enough without someone walking in.

And so the urges festered, but now he was pressed to Shiro, finally fulfilling that need after so long. Shiro was soft, warm, and stable. The fact that Shiro was smoking hot definitely helped in other departments, but maybe not the cuddling department, in Lance’s opinion.

 

Equations are frantically running all around his mind, and Shiro desperately tries to focus on one, even as the panic sets in. It’s not the lung-crushing fear of his Druid-nightmares, but the extreme awkwardness of popping a boner while Lance is curled in on him right now. He can feel his crotch beginning to react, and he clenches his teeth. He starts solving uneven square roots and deriving formulas all while he’s sharing a bed with a gorgeous boy, and to his relief it seems to be working, other parts of his brain beginning to take over to mentally whack his dick into submission. A little part of him feels regretful for not looking at Lance more though, and he prepares himself before facing Lance to talk to him, like a normal person.

“I… Did dream that I was hugging someone. Was I hugging too hard? Are you hurt?”

“Nah, I’m fine. Honest, Shiro.”

“You know the only reason you stayed here was ‘cause Red was worried, right? If you got hurt because of me while on base, I think she would actually try to kill me.”

“Beautiful and Gorgeous are both the best,” Lance chirps, and Shiro wonders vaguely if the Lions are ever a bit embarrassed by how much Lance gushes over them.

Shiro exhales softly and stops himself from hugging Lance. He’s already been way too lucky, and the fact that Lance sees this whole thing as wholly platonic is an absolute blessing. The scent of medicine and antiseptic wafts from Lance, particularly at his neck, under the bandage.

“What’s that smell? The medicine one?”

“Oh, I found this balm in your first aid kit, and it seemed like it’d feel nice, so I put it on my bruise underneath the gauze.”

It’s that little pot of salve that he bought on a whim when they had first returned to earth. The air had been warm, the greenery lush and vibrant, and the terse tone in his parents’ voices was unmistakable as they spoke during that brief phone call at a base. Memories of the past mixed in with the beautiful weather, and he went and got something he didn’t need.

He supposes that he should feel incredibly lucky that his relationship with his parents is only emotionally distant, and that he hasn’t been disowned or worse. They still love him, and maybe he should actually be grateful to them. If they hadn’t cut him off financially, he’d never have volunteered for the Garrison, and would’ve never met such wonderful friends.

“Shiro?”

Shiro startles a little at Lance’s voice. The boy is looking up at him curiously, trying to decipher his odd expression. Lance is still mulling over Shiro’s empty gaze to the side when Shiro decides to lean into Lance again anyways, a soft breath slipping from his lips.

“…That’s not fair. How’s your body still cool even though it’s so hot right now?”

Lance can’t see Shiro’s face right now, and that’s exactly what Shiro wants. He’s smiling right now, flushed and giddy, his face at complete odds with his flat voice. If he hadn’t been cut off, he wouldn’t have joined the Garrison; wouldn’t have had to suffer and lose his arm like that. On the other hand, though, he’d never have met so many wonderful people, including Lance.

“You have a metal arm!” Lance says, laughing in Shiro’s arms. “How are you overheating right now?! Gah! You’re too hot! Get off!”

Lance starts to wiggle around, and Shiro finally lets go, feeling his chest hurt at the same time. Bliss and heartache first thing in the morning. _What a great start to the day_ , he thinks sarcastically.

Lance sits up and stretches, grumbling, before getting off the bed.

“I’m gonna go hog your bathroom, Shiro!” he calls, already disappearing behind the door.

Shiro watches him, then slumps back onto the bed, holding his arms and touching his chin where the skin met Lance’s hair.

Does that mean everything he felt in his dream was real?

 

Keith lunges forward, ducking under Lance’s punch. Lance clicks his tongue and steps forward to avoid Keith’s grab, and right before his weight completely shifts, he reaches over Keith’s head and sharply pushes down on man’s spine. Keith pitches forward, and Lance uses that advantage to aim a kick his stomach, but Keith wraps his arms around his leg and brings them both down on the mat, with him leaning over Lance.

“Argh! Again?!” Lance shrieks from the floor. Keith smirks and helps him up, and Lance ambles back to the side where the others are, pouting.

“I’m up!” Pidge chirps, hopping up the second Lance sits down.

“Wreck ‘im, Pidge!” Lance hollers, waving his fist around. Hunk just laughs and pats Lance on the shoulder, trying to calm him down.

“You guys do your best!” he calls. In response, Pidge goes straight for the backs of Keith’s knees.

Pidge goes down just as fast as Lance, to both of their chagrins, and its only Hunk and Shiro that Keith actually has some trouble with.

“It’s the height and weight advantage!” Pidge grumbles, and Lance nods and agrees with her, the two of them pouting.

“You’re taller, you know?!”

“Weight advantage!”

Keith yells as Shiro flips him, and his back slaps into the mat, where he grumbles and lays spread-eagled.

“I still can’t beat you, Shiro,” he says eventually, laughing and reaching out to let Shiro help him up. Shiro pulls him up in a single motion, and for a second Keith sucks in a breath as he feels weightless.

“C’mon everyone, lets get cleaned up. Allura and Coran’s transmission should be coming in anytime now.”

Pidge and Hunk have managed to hook up a holoscreen in one of the meeting rooms. The screen flickers, and sure enough, Allura appears.

“Hello everyone! It’s so nice to see everyone again! Huh? Lance?! What happened?!”

“Too much fun playing around at home.”

“Please refrain from anything too dangerous. From what you all have told us, the medical technology on Earth is still rather… primitive, to say the least.”

A look of disgust passes over her face, but it fades soon enough. Iverson is too busy staring at the holoscreen, wondering how it could possibly work without breaking a few laws of physics.

“Well, I’m glad to say that the new universal alliance is going rather well. It’s been going all as planned, especially by using the existing Galran infrastructure.”

“I’m glad you decided on it in the end, Princess,” Shiro says with a smile. She’d been understandably reluctant, but realized that this was the best possible option. She swallowed her prejudices and went ahead.

“Yes, the progress has been stunning. Oh, Hunk? You requested a sample of Balmeran crystal, correct? Shay mined a piece for you herself. I’ll have that and a note from her ready for you when I touch down on Earth again.”

Hunk’s eyes glow, and he smiles broadly.

“Oh man, there’s so much we can do with a power source like the crystal, and a note from Shay… I wonder what it’ll say!”

His smiles are infectious, and Allura basks in this warmth while it lasts.

“One more bit of information,” she says, clenching her teeth. If she was at some sort of more formal diplomatic meeting, it’d be beyond rude to do what she’s about the do, but these are the Paladins, her friends and companions.

“About… Lotor,” she grinds out through her jaw. “Coran, I apologize.”

“It’s nothing, Princess!”

The two trade places, and she vanishes from the screen, to be replaced by her retainer. Coran waves and looks deep into the screen.

“Oh my, the design of the base is quite drab, I see!”

Iverson bristles to the side, and the others try not to snicker.

“Anyway, my boy, Lance! Prince Lotor was asking about you!”

Lance’s response is immediate: a big scowl and his entire body tilting back.

“Oh god, just tell him that time was an accident!”

“I haven’t even finished-“

“If it has to do with courting me, just tell him that that time at the festival was an accident!” Lance screeches, waving his fist at the screen.

Everyone’s eyes widen, and Shiro rubs at his scar again, looking at his shoes. The others are all just as tense as him, but Coran’s talking again, and the shock still hasn’t properly worn off yet.

“I-I see,” Coran replies, slightly taken aback. The others are all watching in shock as Lance groans and sighs and grumbles some more.

“Oh _shit_. Is he still wearing the hairpin?”

“A hairpin? Well, his hair was being held up by this wooden pin with a blue stone on the end…”

“Ohhhhhh my god, he still has that?” Lance says, more for his own benefit, unable to believe what he’s hearing. Immediately he grinds his teeth down on a thumbnail, before sighing and dropping his hand down.

“…Tell him that I’m sorry too, alright?”

Despite them all being so excited to see Allura and Coran, the moment the transmission ends, Lance is swarmed by his friends.

“’Courting’?! What the heckie?!” Hunk yelps.

Lance tries to reply, but Pidge shoves her way to the front, eyes wide open.

“What the actual hell? When did Lotor get the hots for you?! Is that why he ended up joining us?!”

“Why’d you say sorry? The dude’s an asshole!” Keith snaps.

Shiro’s the last one to speak.

“Lance. I don’t ever remember going to a festival with everyone in space. None of you ever told me about going to something like that while I was gone as well.”

Lance stiffens.

“Was this while you were his prisoner?”

Lance grimaces. He didn’t want this to get brought up, especially by Shiro of all people. This must be how people feel when they discuss bad exes. Granted, the idea of dating Lotor still sounds like a cluster-fuck, but having to talk about the time some weirdly intimate stuff happened in front of everyone (and to a crush no less) is still embarrassing as hell.

“Uhhhh… let’s start from the beginning, I guess? I injected the poison, and then Lotor decided to give the antidote for shits and giggles.”

Iverson’s ears perk up, and he peers up, silent horror in his eyes, his lips firmly shut tight.

“Stuff went down, I guess reverse-stockholm syndrome is a thing too sometimes, tapped a bit into his daddy issues, and… I guess… convinced him to overthrow his dad and cooperate with us?” Lance mutters, hissing the last consonant as the others won’t let up their stares.

“Guys. Please stop that.”

“Oh. My god. You fucking seduced him,” Pidge says, her face completely bewildered and incredulous and… completely amused.

“Not on purpose!”

“But you technically did.”

“Not helping, Hunk!”

“Still don’t get why you said sorry! The guy nearly killed you!”

“Getting rejected is tough, alright?! I mean, I’m not used to doing the rejection, but saying sorry is important, right?!”

“Not to that fucker!” Keith yells, his temper jumping back to the surface.

Lance can’t even disagree, when Shiro cuts in.

“The festival then? What happened at the festival?”

Lance is trying to change the subject, but Shiro stubbornly clings to it. Even Shiro isn’t quite sure why he’s so fixated on this incident, but Lance gives in. He grits his teeth and tries to look away from all of them.

“He was actually really bored back then, you know?” his expression softens. “…Really lonely too.”

Lance begins to look more pensive as he thinks more about it, and he presses a thumbnail to his bottom lip, not caring if it muffles his speech a little.

“I just talked to him, and he started letting me out of my cell, with a cutting collar though. When we were on this planet at a festival, we were disguised, and I got kinda caught up when I won a prize at a booth. I couldn’t keep it, so I just gave it to him. He looked so surprised though, and I thought that was a bit sad so I thought of Max and Sam. Thinking about the kiddies made me feel a little homesick, so… I hugged him on a whim.”

Lance barks sharply and makes a mocking bow before finally looking at them again, his face bright red.

“Anyways, that’s the whole story. You guys happy?”

Shiro stares blankly at Lance, processing everything he’s just heard. One part of his brain is telling him that he’s being petty and that he’s overreacting. He acknowledges and accepts these things, since acceptance is the first step towards processing those feelings in a healthy and mature way. On the other hand, his brain is also bragging to an imaginary Lotor that he got to spoon and cuddle Lance last night, so _take that you fucked-up motherfucker_.

“Can we all just agree to never talk about Lotor’s creepy-ass crush on Lance for like, forever?”

Hunk is the voice of reason right now, and Shiro couldn’t be more grateful to the boy. They all make nondescript sounds and nods, agreeing to drop the subject.

 

Lance sighs as he eats with the twins. He had to talk about Lotor. In front of Shiro.

_Dear god._

He groans a little more, stabbing a French fry into ketchup.

“Something up, Uncle?” Sam asks, scooting forward in their booth.

“I had to talk about something embarrassing today in front of everyone,” he mock-wails, diving back into his food.

“You’re super cool though, Lance! I bet it wasn’t that bad,” Max says, trying to cheer him up.

“Ah, thanks kiddies.”

He goes through the burgers and his milkshake at a fast-pace, but Sam and Max pick at their food a little more slowly, the two glancing down at Sam’s watch every now and then.

“Oh no, are you two feeling sick? Should we go back home?” Lance asks, worried.

“NO!” Max snaps, before suddenly realizing her mistake. She looks to Sam for help, and he barely nods.

“Nah, Hunk just made us a suuuuper big lunch today! The other kids were so jealous!”

“Heh, is that so? I’m so jealous! Hunk’s food is the best in the whole wide universe,” Lance says, sighing happily. The twins seize on the topic like a lifeline, distracting Lance for as long as possible, until it’s finally good for them to go home. They go inside, and Lance pauses. The house is a mess. There’s even shattered plates on the ground to Lance’s shock. His fists clench up, and he tries to talk to the twins, but they’re already dragging him up the stairs.

“Guys, the house.”

They stubbornly drag him up.

“Guys?”

They don’t say anything, and Lance gives up, waiting for all of them to go to their room. They all settle down on the ground, and Lance thinks for a second as they wait, holding his head in a hand. His face is serious.

“Is anyone hurt?”

“No,” Max says, fiddling with the hem of her shorts.

“Okay. When should I clean up the house?”

“Mom can do that,” Sam says this time. “Can we eat out for the rest of the week too?”

Lance smiles and ruffles Sam and Max’s hair.

“Of course, if that’s what you guys want.”

So that’s what they do. They keep eating out, and Lance eats sometimes more or sometimes less for dinner each day, his stomach fighting food as the tension in his body rises. The house stays dirty, and he’s feeling his body beginning to break down, but the twins are looking better, and that’s what matters. At least, that’s what he tells himself as he forces himself to not jump at every noise in the house. If he doesn’t see them, he’s safe, but he also doesn’t know what they’re doing and that scares him too. What a mess.

“Saturday. Saturday,” he mumbles, splashing some water on his face. Getting to Saturday won’t change anything, but it’s a goal; something to hold onto or else he’ll drown.

 

“Man, you should sleepover on Friday too!”

Lance stops fiddling with the new metal puzzle that Hunk’s made, and he lets the whole contraption dangle from his fingers.

“Hm?”

“After you drop the twins off you can stay with Shiro again!”

Shiro doesn’t seem to be acting any different, from what Hunk sees, so figures he’ll keep trying. Lance mulls it over, feeling the exhaustion in his body that’s sinking in deeper and deeper every passing day. He’ll be with everyone, and best of all he’ll be sharing the room with Shiro again. It’s a win-win.

“Sure! Does Shiro know?”

“I know now,” Shiro says as he’s walking over with a pile of papers for Hunk. “This Friday? No problem. I said I was going to give everyone a ride on Saturday anyways. You’ll be able to sleep in a little longer too, right, Lance?”

“Ahhh, thanks, Shiro.”

Shiro prepares himself for that smile, and it’s still dazzling of course, but something’s wrong.

“Lance, are you alright?”

The boy yawns and stretches, before holding his hands behind his back.

“Yeah, I’m fine! I’ve just been staying up too late with the kiddies lately.”

“I know you love them a lot, but sleep’s important for them too, y’know?”

“I know, I knoooooow.”

He shifts his mental deadline from Saturday to Friday, and just like that, suddenly it feels like there’s hope again. He just has to make it one more day, instead of two. It’s just one day, but the difference he feels is amazing. He straightens his back to smile once more at Shiro.

“Thanks again.”

“It’s nothing. Just relax,” Shiro says, smiling back. There’s little bit more glow back in Lance’s smile, and for that he’s grateful.

“Is it really that lonely clunking around in that room of yours?”

Hunk chokes and Shiro suddenly using the back of his hand to wipe some invisible thing off his lips.

“What makes you say that?” he asks, his voice jumping as he struggles to keep his tone casual.

“’Cuz you looked happier for some reason when I said thanks for staying in your room. Is it too big for one person or something?”

It’s exactly at the word ‘happier’ that Lance realizes all the subtext he’s accidentally implying. Lance winces, but keeps his expression as pleasant as he possibly can right now. He needs to find some sort of saving line as fast as possible, all while the tension in the room rapidly rises.

“Ohhhhh! Let’s hang out in your room tomorrow night then! All of us! I bet you have a better TV than Pidge too!”

Shiro eyes flick up for a second, before he looks towards the side, his hand still over his mouth. He stops hiding his face and makes a little laugh as he ruffles Lance’s hair.

“Sure, sure. You’re right. That room is a little too big for me,” he agrees, feeling Lance’s hair twist and wrap around his fingers, before waving and leaving.

“Well. That was weird,” Hunk says.

“Yep. That sure was.”

Lance starts attacking the puzzle with renewed vigor, sliding and clinking together the metal as best as he can, wondering how long it’ll take before he’s frustrated enough to forget everything that just happened, and both the slight disappointment and happiness he feels at Shiro touching his hair like that.

 _Guess I’ve been sibling-zoned_ , he thinks absentmindedly, pressing both of thumbs straight down the middle of the interconnected metal curlicues. It clicks and bends into a new, more interesting heart-shape. He puffs out his cheeks and twists both halves.

It’s not bad though, if that means that Shiro will off-handedly touch him some more like this.

Shiro spits out a huge gasp once the door hisses shut behind him. He’s good at holding his breath, but doing it on the spur of the moment while also speaking was definitely a bad idea. It was all he could do to not break down into a simpering pile in the middle of Hunk’s lab like that. Of course, Hunk can’t have a generic lab like everyone else, all dim and gloomy. His has open windows that illuminate the place in natural light, and miscellaneous plants and trinkets littered all over the place.

Lance looks beautiful when he’s framed by leaves, and bright lighting makes his eyes a sparkling dark blue.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” he mutters to himself, quickly texting Matt.

[I’m slipping.]

His phone chirps faster than he expects, a small speech bubble rolling up almost immediately.

[ur the one who fell in love]

Shiro sighs at Matt’s bluntness and pockets his phone. He needs at least five minutes right now until he can gather his bearings again and mull over a proper reply.

 

The twins are snoring on the bed, and that’s when Lance quietly crawls out form under his covers and checks himself in the mirror. Starting from his head, he checks his skin, making sure he hasn’t missed even a single bruise or nick. The mark on his neck should be good to go by next week. His shoulder is still bruised but not cut, and at his hands, he runs a thumb over the few crusty scabs left. Everything else is rapidly fading. The biggest issue is luckily the one he has to worry about the least, the bruising on his shins.

They look way better than before, and by now everyone’s used to them. By next Friday, he won’t need to worry much about all of these injuries. He just has to keep himself scarce long enough. Satisfied, he crawls back under his blanket on the floor, staring wide-eyed at the ceiling. It’s like magic, what hanging out with everyone has done for him. Suddenly, what seemed nearly unbearable is just within his grasp.

Something cold and painful picks at his chest, and he grimaces and scowls in frustration, twisting in on himself. The thoughts keep poking at him though.

It’s been harder to bear it all, ever since coming back, and he doesn’t know why. He doesn’t remember feeling this strung out even during the years he was at home, but now he’s been barely back and he’s hitting limit after limit. Without everyone here, who knows what kind of stupid thing he’d have done by now?

A sound catches in his throat as he curls up even tighter, winding his fingers into his hair, pressing his nails into his skull.

The only reason he’s even here is all just from a thin thread of coincidences, and his brain starts going into overdrive, thinking every single possibility that involves him somehow not ending up in Voltron. With every possibility unnecessary panic rushes to his brain and limbs, and he starts telling himself over and over how stupid he is to be worried, but he can’t stop thinking, and the more scared he gets the more wants to do something stupid that will ease the fear, ease the pressure that’s keeps getting worse and worse.

Breathing through his teeth, he starts forcing himself to take bigger breaths, even as his body fights them, making them hurt his chest. He keeps breathing, not as slowly as preferred, but enough that he can start getting more thoughts into his head. He focuses on everyone’s words, laughing with them, and living life with them. He’s happy to be alive right now. If he’s alive, he’s happy. If he’s alive, he’ll get to spend time with them one more day.

“Alright, see ya two later!” he croons, blowing them exaggerated kisses, and the two laughs and wave goodbye.

“See ya, Lance!”

“See you on Sunday, Uncle!”

Lance is happily humming as he heads down the stairs with his small overnight bag, but he pauses, as he sees Tom waiting at the bottom.

“Where the hell have you been?”

The words are dripping with venom, and Lance’s legs nearly freeze, but he forces himself to keep walking.

“The kiddies have been wanting to eat out lately, so we’ve been coming home later. What’s the matter?”

“That bag. Where are you going?”

Lance puts up a scowl and tries to weave around Tom, but the man runs to the front door, his feet slapping on the tile.

“Connor’s gonna be so pissed. He hasn’t seen you at all this entire week.”

“And he won’t see me tonight either. I’m staying over tonight, and tomorrow I’m hanging out with my friends.”

“’Friends’? Are you kidding me? Someone as useless and annoying as you actually has friends? Fat chance. For all we know you were just rolling around in space for a year or two, you fucking loser. I bet you had to drink your own piss to survive.”

Lance’s fingers are fiddling with the strap of his bag, and he clenches it with all his strength.

“I’m hanging out with my friends at the base. Bye.”

Before he can panic, and before his limbs freeze to ice, he grabs his brother by the shoulder and pushes him lightly to the side. He panics though, and shoves his brother to the side. Tom slams into the wall and Lance gasps, staring at the scene in horror. Tom yelps and starts rubbing his shoulder, complaining, and that’s Lance’s cue to start running.

“Fucking hell, Lance!” Tom screams. “Connor’s gonna fuck you up when you come back!”

Lance’s legs and heart only pump faster, and his running turns into a full-on sprint.

 

 

Keith’s perched on Shiro’s couch with Hunk, while Pidge, and Lance sit on the floor in front. Hunk spectates with Keith as they watch Lance and Pidge on a split screen, competing to see who can complete the level first. Of course, she wins again. The pixelated platformer is something that’s almost wholly unfamiliar to Keith, especially the blocky, simple controllers, and massive cartridges the size of his hand.

Still, it looks fun, and Hunk’s explaining and commentating the whole time as Lance shrieks with despair, watching Pidge’s wins rack up to an embarrassing number.

Then, something truly bizarre happens.

“Blegh! Huuuuuuunk!” Lance asks, leaning back to look at his friend, arms outstretched and spread apart.

It’s some sort of signal that Hunk immediately recognizes, and he laughs and picks Lance up onto his lap.

“Oh man, it’s been awhile since we did this!”

Pidge looks up and barely spares a glance.

“Oh, I’ll trade with you once you need to go to the bathroom or something.”

“Thanks.”

Hunk wraps his arms around Lance’s waist, and Lance keeps playing like nothing happens. In fact, Keith swears he’s gotten a little better.

“What is this?”

He’s met by three pairs of blank eyes, but Lance and Pidge go straight back to playing, leaving it up to Hunk to explain.

“Haha, this is… Hm… Lance needs a steady supply of cuddling to survive, so we figured we’d help him out while we were in the Garrison.”

“But I don’t remember you guys ever doing this on the Castle?”

“Too busy,” Lance suddenly cuts in, leaning back into Hunk to swipe his sword at a little pixel monster. “Now that we’re back home though, I’m gonna treat myself a bit.”

“I wanna try.”

“What?”

“Huh?”

“Did I just hear that right?”

Keith reaches out to Hunk, ready to pick up Lance himself if need be, all as the three stare at him in shock. Pidge pauses the game, and Lance looks critically at Keith, all as cheery music plays in the background.

“Dude, Hunk, this isn’t gonna work out. Keith doesn’t seem like the right cuddle size.”

“You never know.”

“Hunk?!”

Hunk lifts Lance up and places him in Keith’s lap, where Keith curiously tightens his arm around Lance’s stomach. The sensation is wholly unfamiliar to him, and he tightens or loosens his grip on Lance, trying to figure out how everything feels. Lance is warm and not that soft, but he’s still nice to hold right now. Keith’s not quite sure why it’s pleasant to even be holding Lance in the first place, and he wonders a little as he holds Lance.

“Oh! Your thighs are actually really soft, Keith!”

“Your butt hurts.”

“Um, rude. You can put me down if you want then.”

“Hm. No. Don’t think I will.”

“…Are you seriously older than us?”

The doors opens, and Shiro walks in, groaning and stretching.

“I’m here guys, is there a movie or any- oh what the hell.”

He stares, offhandedly trying to work a crick out of his neck as Keith and Lance lightly bicker while awkwardly holding each other.

“What’s happening? Pidge? Hunk?”

He swings the plastic bag of snacks in his hand a little while waiting for one of them to answer. Hunk is trying to calm them down, while Pidge begins to unhook the console from the TV. She expertly lassoes the cord out of Lance’s hands and safely wraps up everything before talking.

“Cool, now we’re good for movie night. Anyways, Keith volunteered since Lance needed his cuddling quota filled. He’s not very good at it though.”

Keith seethes and leans back, accidentally dragging Lance back with him.

“Hey, for the first time, I’m not doing that badly!”

Lance gapes, and he wiggles out of Keith’s grasp and flops onto the ground.

“Seriously?! Pidge, we need the big guns for this, so can we make it your turn right now?”

The girl sighs and moves to settle into Lance’s arms.

“Yeah, yeah,” she groans. “Hunk, go for it.”

“Sure!”

Keith looks up at Shiro in confusion, but the man can only shrug.

“I have no idea.”

Right as Keith is still staring, trying to silently plead, Hunk yanks up Keith and pulls him into a comfortable hug, laughing.

“Guess you’re stuck with me, pfft!”

“Is this what you guys meant by the ‘big guns’? This isn’t fair at all,” Keith grumbles, turning until he finds just the right place to rest against Hunk.

“You’re way too cozy, big guy,” Keith admits. He scoots over to let Shiro sit next to them.

“It’s better than Lance’s lanky ass, I bet,” Pidge says from below them. She glances up and grins, pushing up Lance’s arms to escape.

“Shiro, you’ve got Lance!”

“Huh?!”

“Okay, I guess so,” Shiro agrees, his brain as usual a solid light year behind his dick.

Lance stands in front of Shiro as Pidge goes for the remote, and he slightly leans forward, so that he’s not towering over the man.

“You cool with this? If not I’ll just squish into the middle.”

Shiro’s arms snap out, but when Lance hesitates, he slows down, and carefully turns around Lance and pulls him into his lap. Only after that does he loosely hold his arms around the boy’s waist.

“It’s fine. You have your… ‘quota’ right? No harm in doing this for a bit. Why didn’t you guys ever do this while we were in space?”

Lance laughs and relaxes into Shiro’s hold in mere seconds, and Shiro can feel the sound reverberating through his back and into Shiro’s chest.

“Never seemed like there was a right time, y’know? With all the ‘saving the universe’ stuff, and trying to not die, cuddles kinda got put on the backburner. But-!”

Lance stretches in Shiro’s grasp before relaxing again.

“Now that everything’s mostly calmed down, that quota’s kinda built up, so I’m tackling it right now,” he says, looking up to smile at Shiro.

“Cool, everyone’s trapped.”

Hunk, and Lance all stiffen, and Shiro leans into Lance, concerned.

“Lance? What’s wrong?”

Pidge closes the lights and rushes over to the space in the middle of the couch that’s the perfect size for her.

“Alright! What should we watch tonight?” she asks sweetly, her eyes gleaming from the glow of the television screen.

“Shoot! Lance, I was supposed to pick this week! You messed up!” Keith snaps.

“’I’ messed up? This is on you, man! You said you wouldn’t let her get the remote ‘no matter what’!”

“C’mon guys, calm down.”

“Hunk, we need to sleep a lot for tomorrow!” Lance wails.

“Hmm… ‘Snatchers’ is always a solid,” Pidge muses, “but sci-fi ages so badly nowadays,” she grumbles, all while Lance is panicking and Hunk’s fear is rising more and more.

Shiro’s fucked himself.

Just one look at the situation tells everything. He’s clutching the boy he loves, surrounded by the sounds of screaming and crying as a teenage girl casually scrolls through a selection of films with posters that look like abominations not even the universe couldn’t think of.

One part of him wants to prove Matt wrong everytime his friend calls him a masochist, but the other part is raving about the body pressed into him, how warm and soft it is, and how beautiful every line of Lance’s body is, especially the slim hips under his arms.

 _…I think I’ve become a little weaker_ , Shiro thinks, pressing his face into Lance’s shoulder. He’ll accept his fate and stay for Pidge’s horror movie pick.

“Oh yea, you’re bad with horror, right?” Lance whispers. He giggles softly at Shiro’s expense, but barely leans into Shiro’s head, pressed into his shoulder.

“Just don’t look. Maybe you’ll have fun listening to us scream.”

Shiro shudders and looks up, weakly chuckling.

“Never.”

Something flashes in Lance’s eyes and he makes a strained noise.

“Oh, oops. That was a mistake,” he murmurs, as the first thing the two of them see on the screen are small needles slowly piercing out through the eyeballs of some hapless victim as he howls in agony, suffering but unable to help himself. In fact, his efforts only skewer his eyes at more angles. Pidge and Keith are already shoving more popcorn into their mouths.

“Um,” Lance ekes out, before swallowing, “you sure you still wanna watch?”

“Why not?”

“Huh?”

“It’s not as bad as I remember, I think.”

“Really? Cool then.”

He tightens his grip around Lance and nestles his head into the crook of Lance’s neck, forcing down the memories as best as he can. Lance is his amulet, his charm for warding away the flashbacks. The movies don’t seem as bad when real life is so, so much worse. He remembers the prisoners being tortured for the littlest thing, forced to watch their bodies be cut open and have their organs played with before being crudely sealed up with medical gel, and that was if the guards weren’t feeling particularly creative that day.

He forces himself to watch, because that way he won’t be as scared by the screeching and laughing coming from the others, and their faces relax him. Pidge is laughing, Keith seems to have gotten too used to cuddling Hunk and is now reassuring the bigger boy, andLance is in his arms right now, twisting his body in all directions in time with what’s happening on the screen, uneasily squirming, but still enjoying the movie it seems.

They get to a part where a group of bullies have found toxic monster slime, and are forcing their victim to eat it.

“C’mon! Eat it! Eat it!” the ringleader jeers.

The others all pitch in, their chanting rising up to a fever pitch as the poor boy finally slides a hand into the goop and sucks it off his fingers.

“Ewwwww, gross,” Keith laughs, but Pidge smiles at him.

“Wait until we get to the later parts!”

Shiro and Hunk both groan, but something feels off. They’re all laughing and joking, but Shiro feels uneasy. He chalks it up to just his mind overthinking, and leans back into Lance, his eyes just peeking over the boy’s shoulders. At last, that’s when he realizes what’s wrong.

Lance is quiet, his body still in Shiro’s grasp.

“Lance?” Shiro whispers, gently shaking the boy’s shoulder.

“Bathroom,” Lance whispers back, before easing out of Shiro’s arms and disappearing.

Lance locks the door and kneels at the ready by the toilet. His stomach feels uneasy, and he holds his head, taking deep breaths. Those damn memories keep pushing into his head, and it’s annoying.

“I just wanna have fun with everyone,” he growls under his breath, right before the flashback hits again, splinters cutting into the corners of his mouth as they wedge a branch between his teeth. Like that they force him to eat brightly colored pink and red flowers. Everything in his body is rejecting the bitterness that’s so strong that his eyes water and his tongue and teeth all go numb, but if he spits it out, it’ll happen all over again, so he forces the flowers down.

He keeps vomiting the entire night, until Carmen takes him to the hospital.

Lance’s eyes snap open and he tries to throw up into the toilet, but he hasn’t eaten much, and he empties his entire stomach in one movement, his body deciding to dry hurl instead. The movie’s still playing the background though, and he can’t stay in here too long. He flushes the toilet and starts washing his hands, the self-imposed time limit forcing himself to calm down a little. After this, Shiro will be holding him again, and that’ll be wonderful, even if nothing will ever come of it. God, he knows he shouldn’t even let himself go anywhere near Shiro, but he keeps doing dumb stuff that’ll put him in contact with the man. This is no way to get rid of a dumb crush or infatuation, but Lance is such a useless piece of shit that he can’t even control his own urges like some sort of goddamn dumbass. He’s a human being, not an animal, but he’s still a pathetic idiot that needs to cling to others like some sort of parasite just to satisfy some basic cravings for human contact. He wouldn’t have this problem if he had a girlfriend, but he’s way too girly and disgusting to get a girl, and his wreckage of a face and his stick-like body won’t ever land a guy-

“Argh, stop it!” Lance sneers to himself, splashing some water onto his face. He looks up into the mirror. For a second, he can look at himself, before frowning and forcing himself to stare elsewhere, before the self-disgust gets any stronger. He dries his hands on a towel, teeth grinding.

“Nope, don’t fucking do this you fucking useless piece of shit,” he mutters, “you _cannot_ have a flipping breakdown in Shiro’s bathroom while everyone’s outside.”

He leaves the bathroom and settles back into Shiro’s lap, plopping down so suddenly that Shiro almost scrambles to hold him again.

“Hm? Wait. This is a different movie. Why?” he asks, looking around at all of them, their faces suddenly looking a little more haggard. Everyone leans into each other a little closer on the couch, and now the couch feels even more cramped than it already is.

“There’s was a scene with a building collapse. You missed it. All screaming families and that stuff,” Shiro says for everyone else, and now Lance knows exactly why everyone’s watching a cheesy slasher complete with the fakest blood anyone’s every seen. Lance frowns at first, but eventually he smiles and relaxes in the center of their huge impromptu dogpile.

“You know, minus the whole ‘oh my god how are we not dead’ thing, at least we had lots of room while we were exploring the universe. Now that we’re back on earth, this couch is all out of _space_!”

Everyone somehow groans in perfect unison, and Lance dissolves into breathless cackling. Shiro tries his best to maneuver Lance out of harm’s way, Hunk valiantly sacrifices himself and falls to the ground with Keith, and Lance puts up a good fight, but it’s not enough.

“Avenge me, Pidge!” Keith cries from less than a foot away, Hunk laughing his guts out.

“Don’t worry, I will!” she cheers, before nimbly smothering Lance with a pillow.

Lance is already dead asleep by the time Shiro is settling into bed himself. He didn’t notice it at first, but when they were all roughhousing, he’s positive that Lance has lost some weight. Shiro knows it’s not his place to say anything, but Lance seems like he’s doing more for his little cousins than anyone else in the family. He’s cooking for them, walking them to their activities in the morning, picking them up, and even doing other chores like cleaning and grocery shopping, all while training at the base and keeping up with his studies.

Even so, he’s still so beautiful and caring, trying his best to cheer them up no matter what. It’s a mess, but ignoring Lance won’t make the problem disappear. Shiro sighs to himself and settles back into bed, sleeping at a reasonable time for the second time this entire week. He wonders if he should be scared of more nightmares, and if he’ll end up in another embarrassing situation with Lance, but he tosses those worries away. The feeling of everyone’s laughter and warmth still lingers with him, and he never thought being with everyone would be so fun and comforting. On top of it all, he’s _excited_ for tomorrow, like some kid. A wetsuit’s easy enough to find, but then he can get earrings for Lance. When Lance sees them, he wonders how the boy will react.

Shiro turns in bed, smiling as he clutches the blanket.

Maybe he’ll have to look away again, since Lance has such great smiles.

 

This time, they’ve got him, and he’s truly doomed.

His eyes sweep the whole room but he can’t find a single escape point. The soldier holding his arms behind him is too strong, and even then, he can’t break the cuffs he has on.

“It’s a shame that we had to do this to our Champion, but there are always more fighters, just as desperate, and just as strong,” the druid says, her soft, gravelly voice ringing far too loudly in his ears. He utters some strange croak or gasp and tries to collapse in on himself, but another guard forces his head up.

“We’ll just have some fun with what’s left over.”

His eyes widen and she jams a long spine up the underside of his jaw and all the way to his brain, scrambling things his amygdala and hippocampus and brain stem.

 Shiro slams a hand over his mouth right as he wakes up. By now it’s muscle memory, to smother the automatic screams as they rise up in his throat after the nightmares. He shuts his eyes tightly and forces himself to breathe in as much as he can, waiting for the panic and disorientation to pass.

It takes some time, but soon he’s sitting in bed, letting out a long exhale after what feels like the millionth long breath. Blinking, he looks over to see how Lance is doing. The boy seems to still be asleep, and Shiro flops back onto the mattress, relieved.

Lance has seen a nightmare and not said a thing, but despite it all, he hates making them all worry. These nightmares are just a fact of life for now. They’re not every night, and they’re not making life impossible or anything, just like a scar or an old injury that aches sometimes.

Shiro grumbles and pouts, rolling onto his other side. He’s got a body and a head full of scars, and because of these annoying things, getting close with Lance doesn’t feel right. He purses his lips and mulls over Lance’s words.

“…Romanticizing scars… It’s not as easy as it sounds, y’know?” he mutters to himself, settling down to go back to sleep.

 

Lance wakes up, stretching out all his limbs as far as he can, rolling off the edge of the couch.

“Oomph!”

“Lance?!”

There’s some scrambling and banging, and Shiro rushes out of the bathroom, pushing his wet hair out of his eyes.

“You alright?! I heard someone fall!”

Lance grumbles and looks up from the ground, flashing a wobbly thumbs-up.

“I’m fine! I just slipped! It’s all… cool…”

He’s looking up at Shiro from upside down, and the man only has a single towel on hastily wrapped around his waist.

The scars are terrible.

They’re not as nice or as pretty as the one on Shiro’s face. Rather, these ones are vicious and uneven and mottled. If the worst possible version of a type of scar existed, it must be somewhere on Shiro’s body right now.

More importantly though, Shiro _only has a single towel on_.

“Holy fuck, you are _ripped_ Shiro. Like, what the hell? Can I bury my face in those pecs again?”

Lance chokes on his own words and slams his hands over his mouth with a huge _slap!_ , stinging his lips. Shiro pauses, and as his face slowly turns more and more scarlet, he silently retreats to the bathroom.

Lance covers his face and lets the rest of his body drop onto the floor, whining and rolling back and forth, mortified.

“Ohhhhhh my god.”

 

Shiro shuts the door behind him, then promptly crouches and covers his face. Lance saw the scars, and Lance didn’t say anything about the scars. Lance, who needs to talk about _everything_. He’s smiling so hard that his face hurts, and Shiro slaps at his cheeks, trying to get his face to stop that. The redness can’t be saved, but it’ll be a win if he can get this goofy grin off his face.

“Ohhhhh my god,” he mutters to himself.

 

“Girls have it rough, huh?” Keith says, watching as Pidge fusses over some other style and goes back into the changing room for what feels like the tenth time. Shiro’s run off to who knows where, still flustered after him and Lance appeared this morning at breakfast looking all frazzled.

“I dunno, I think she’s having a little fun, I think,” Hunk says, laughing. Lance swings his bag on one finger, looking around the store. People are staring at them, muttering. It can’t be helped, since they’re an odd group for sure. Three older guys that all look vastly different helping a teenage girl pick out a swimsuit looks bizarre, and more than a little creepy, for sure.

“Hey, when was the last time Pidge did any normal teenager stuff like this?” Lance says aloud on a whim.

Hunk and Keith stare at him, wracking their brains.

“Hey, you guys were with her in the Garrison. How old was she then?” Keith adds.

“Fourteen,” Hunk replies. He suddenly folds his arms and frowns, deep in thought.

“Oh, that sucks. Voltron got her right during her teens,” Lance laughs lightly, wiping some sweat from the back of his neck.

“We’ll just make it all up now then,” Keith says so matter-of-factly, as if it’s the easiest thing in the world.

Still, Lance and Hunk both laugh and agree.

“Guys, need an opinion!”

Pidge pushes aside the curtain, and Lance’s eyes shine.

“Oh, that’s cute!”

It’s a two-piece swimsuit, the top cropped with long sleeves, and the bottoms just plain black shorts.

“You think?” She says more for herself, looking over her shoulder in the mirror. “Plus, less skin to put sunscreen on!”

“Haaah, that’s our genius, huh?”

Lance gives Pidge a small high-five, and she promptly pulls back the curtain.

“Phew, finally found something! Let’s grab Shiro once I buy this and get the hell out, cool?”

“I’m already texting him,” Keith calls over the curtain.

Shiro’s phone buzzes and he looks at the screen, frowning. It’s one of the smaller stores in the mall, and he’s looking at a pair of raw iolite studs, dark blue under the warm lighting. In the corner of his eye he can see the store keeper fidgeting, ready to pounce like a hawk. She doesn’t need to do that, since he wants to get these for Lance so badly. No, the only problem here is the price.

They’re not expensive, but they cost more than the shirt Lance got for him. He wants to get these as a thank-you present for that week on the Castle, but his excuse is that it’s for the shirt Lance bought. If he gets these, he’ll have to pray that Lance doesn’t know much about rocks.

“Sir, you seem interested in the water sapphires?”

Shiro’s eyes widen, he feels excitement bubble up in his body at the name.

“Isn’t this iolite?” he asks, genuinely curious. She smiles and nods.

“Yeah, but that’s another name for them, haha! Do you want me to ring those up for you?”

Water sapphire… That’s too perfect. The stones are even a little like Lance’s eyes, changing shades depending on the light. Even if he’s worried about the price, he doesn’t want to get Lance anything else but these stones now.

“Yes please.”

The girl thanks him and goes to the register with the stones, and he slowly trails behind her. He pays with his card, sighing as she takes off the tag and packages them in a small cardstock box. The display did say the jewelry was by a local artist, so of course there wouldn’t be any fancy packaging. Love’s made him sappy as hell, but it’s also made him excited again for the little things, and Shiro is immensely grateful to Lance for making life a little more bearable again.

His phone starts buzzing again, and he winces as he sees two more messages from Keith.

“Here you go!”

“Thanks!”

He shoves the box into his pocket and rushes out, before running back in to grab the bag with his wetsuit. He mumbles something random and quickly heads back to the entrance, where everyone is already waiting.

“Sorry guys, I’m here!”

The entire time the others tease and badger him about taking so long, and Pidge shows him her swimsuit when they get back to the base. Shiro keeps touching his pocket, wondering when he can give it to Lance. Obviously it has to be when they’re alone, but he’s laughing and talking to everyone and next thing he knows Lance is waving goodbye and pedaling away.

Shiro dumbly waves into the distance, then walks back to his room. He locks his door as always, and decides that right now is the best time to smother his face into the couch. A long, agonizing groan crawls out of his throat, and he twists around onto his back, pulling the box out of his pocket. He turns the box around on all sides, then sits up to open it up and look at the studs directly. He holds each stone up to the fluorescent lighting, watching as the color goes purplish and clear.

“…You love him too much,” Shiro whispers to himself, taking a deep breath to collect himself. He sets the earrings and the box onto the coffee table, smiling to himself. He can’t believe he was getting so flustered just over wanting to give Lance a gift.

There’s going to be an opportunity, Shiro just has to be there and know when the timing’s right.

 

Lance hums to himself as he fishes his keys out of his bag and opens the door.

“Max, Sam! I’m back!” he calls, and right on cue he hears them on the stairs. There’s still broken ceramic on the ground, and trash has built up in the home. Lance frowns, feeling something cold sinking its teeth deep into his heart.

“Uncle, you’re back!”

“Lance, we missed you!”

He laughs and hugs them close to him, making sure they can’t see the unease in his eyes.

“It’s only been a day or two. You guys missed me already?”

“Well, duh!” Max says, clinging to him. “It gets boring without you around!”

“Oh, I see,” Lance murmurs, ruffling their hair. Two days, and the twins already miss him. Is no one else hanging out with them at home? He frowns and hold them tight. If that’s the case, then staying over night for too long isn’t a good idea, even if that’s what Lance wants. It’s not fair to Sam and Max.

Sam tugs on his shirt.

“Um, what did you get, Uncle?”

“This? It’s a swimsuit. I’m going to the beach with everyone next week, but none of us had swimsuits, so we went shopping today.”

“Did you have fun?”

“Yeah. Staying overnight with everyone was… fun too.”

“That’s really good then!”

Lance chats quietly with them. He shouldn’t have told them that. These two are trying too hard to keep him safe and happy, when it should be the other way around. They’re just kids, and kids shouldn’t have to make sacrifices like these, no matter how small they seem. Loneliness is a poison, even if they have each other.

The door creaks, and Lance quickly steps in front of the kids, who peer behind his legs.

Tom walks in, focusing a little much on the ground, but Connor is stumbling and muttering gibberish.

“Ah, you’re back, fucker!”

“Tom, don’t swear in front of the kids.”

“Shut up! You can’t tell me what to do!”

Lance’s lips are pressed so tightly that they’ve gone pale, and he hands his bag to Sam and Max.

“Hey, can you guys take these upstairs for me? I’ll see you both in a bit.”

He forces himself to smile, and he prays that they don’t notice the spasm in his hands when they take the bag from him. Quick as lightning they disappear back upstairs, as his head begins to fill with white noise.

The panic is threatening to swallow him whole and he starts clinging to any thread that he can, from counting the floorboards to making a list of every color that he can see right now.

“Connor, mess him up!”

The man in back blearily rubs at his eyes, then stumbles closer, staring closely at Lance. The strength is leaving Lance’s body, and Connor bridges the gap in an instant, yanking up the boy and mentally stunning him before the panic can completely make him deaf and blind to the world.

“Connor, you’re gonna punish him, right? He hit me!” Tom snaps, pointing at his shoulder. “Connor!”

“Mmn? Shure,” he mumbles, dragging Lance by the collar, forcing the boy to follow behind him, as if on a leash. Lance stupidly follows, his face pale and eyes wide. He knows something is about to happen, but Connor’s hand is firmly twisted into his collar. If he tries to escape, he’ll get hit, and panic is making his vision look like a blurry water-glass, but the fist with a vice-grip on his collar keeps him grounded, no matter how much he wants to escape, the knuckles and fingers and fabric painfully digging into his skin.

“So lemme join in!” Tom insists, trying to follow Connor, but the man growls and firmly places his palm against Tom’s chest.

“Shaddup. Yur loud.”

With that, he shoves Tom back and keeps leading Lance to his room, leaving behind Tom, stunned and wide-eyed, touching his chest over and over, looking at the spot in complete confusion.

 

Lance is on his knees, his fingernails skittering on the wood as he trembles. Connor is too drunk, the smell of alcohol wafting off him like rot and sewage, spreading out from the kisses he’s placing on Lance’s cold neck. Lance can feel the rot and the smell spread out from the contact, contaminating him. He can’t even move or pretend right now, the fresh bruises on his torso pinning him to reality.

“Camile, Camile, Camile,” Connor murmurs over and over, his own personal, drunken mantra, before standing in front of Lance. He pulls down his pants and underwear, grabbing Lance’s head and forcing him to look.

“Succit.”

The boy’s shoulders hunch up, and he starts talking again, to Connor’s annoyance. When Lance talks, he breaks this drunken fantasy play. His voice is bright and lively, in direct contrast to Camile’s words, always so soft and dark. If he can break Lance’s voice, then he’ll have his own, personal Camile.

“Um… I… I don’t want to,” Lance mutters, trying to play it off with a smile. Even those smiles are so wrong. They don’t look like Camile’s smiles at all.

“Fer fuckssake.”

He jams two fingers in between Lance’s jaw and forces his penis into Lance’s mouth. The boy chokes and gags, but Connor has his other hand firmly pressing down on the back of his head.

“C’mon, tongue. Tonguuuuh.”

Connor tries to salvage his slurred words by emphasizing random downbeats, putting too much focus on a hard “g”, and Lance forces himself to lick and suck on Connor. Tears bead up in his eyes as he gags, but he forces himself to keep going. The alcohol makes getting Connor off take longer than usual, and the man eases his frustration by completely thrusting into Lance, filling as much of the boy as he can.

Lance is choking, drowning; running out of air, frantically running his tongue up and down the length of Connor’s penis. Stars are appearing in his vision as he works faster, hopeful as he hears Connor swear and grip him harder.

“Fuck, thas good… used to succin dick right, fag?”

Connor ignores Lance’s sobs and groans as he finally cums.

“Sw’llow,” he grunts, pinching Lance’s nose.

He obeys, wincing as the semen slowly rolls down, thick and bitter, leaving a gagging film all over the inside of his mouth and throat.

The man finally lets go and Lance flings himself away, gasping and shuddering for air. His back slams into the wall, rattling his other injuries, but he doesn’t care. Connor wipes himself off, and Lance runs out.

He ignores Sam and Max’s cries and locks himself into the bathroom, furiously brushing his teeth until the foam turns pink, and even then he has to force himself to stop. That disgusting feeling won’t go away no matter what he does.

Well, one thing _does_ work a little.

He scrambles to look through the bathroom, and to his surprise, one of the razor blades he hid away is still there, wrapped in cream paper that blends in with the paint of the cabinet under the sink.

Gently, he pries it off and unwraps it. The blade is still in good condition, and he washes it before getting to work on his inner thighs. He’s a little rusty from not cutting for a while, and blade sinks a little too deep. He gets two deep, practice cuts on one thigh, and a lighter, more experienced one on the other before stopping.

Lance wraps the razor and tosses it in disgust, sighing as now, on top of the oozing contamination in his body, he also feels the shame inside as well, two forces killing him and berating him all at once. Like hot wires, they pierce and burn in the head and chest, even as he cleans and bandages the cuts.

A wire wraps around his brain and slices his mind in half, and now he can’t feel anything. He leaves the bathroom and pops out the screen from the bedroom, deaf to the world as the kiddies ask him questions, pleading and begging.

“Beach, he mutters, before getting out.

He’s not working, so the psychiatrist can’t say jack shit about this, Shiro thinks as he changes into a t-shirt and shorts. He feels restless, but the gym feels too military and cold after all the warmth he’s felt today, so an outdoor run it is. He gets the music pumping in his earbuds and sets off at what’s a brisk pace to him. The humidity is bad, but it’s bearable, and best of all the people are lively and friendly, in stark contrast to the salutes and cold greetings back at the base. Outside really is a completely different world. This part of Cuba is a partial tourist trap, but even tourist traps have their charm, and mixed in are also genuine people.

The asphalt under his feet is firm, but now there’s suddenly grit, and he’s running along the beach. Shiro’s probably living out some hapless office-worker’s dream retirement right now. The waves are shining as the sun sets, and gorgeous people run and play on the beach, splashing in the ocean or relaxing on the sand.

There some people tossing a beach ball on the shore, and there’s Lance sitting on the sand-

Shiro nearly trips on the sidewalk as he stares at Lance with his jaw dropped. He looks around for no reason, wiping the sweat off his face and hoping that he doesn’t smell as he jogs over.

“Lance! Lance!”

The boy’s head snaps up so fast that for a moment Shiro’s afraid that he’s gotten whiplash, but Lance merely stares for a second, then pats the sand next to him. Shiro settles down, feeling the sand cling to a sweaty palm.

“Can’t wait for next Friday?” he jokes. He blinks as Lance doesn’t immediately reply, staring at the ocean.

“I guess. I just wanted to see the water.”

He says just that, and goes silent again. He doesn’t want to think too hard right now. If he does, he’ll feel guilty about crying children, all while his insides recoil and twist in disgust at himself. He hates everything about this body. He wishes he could starve himself into nothingness, burn his face off with fire, slice down deep into his veins so that-

“Ah, don’t think that,” he says, scolding himself. Rolling around in self-pity won’t help anyone, but now he feels disgusted at himself for even acting this way. He needs to be stronger, not this pathetic person right now. Frustration builds, like a tingling between his shoulder blades, and he breathes out slowly, quietly.

“Lance?”

Shiro’s voice punches into his headspace, and he glances the man’s way, his lips parting into a warm smile. He tilts his head in a way as if to say “yes?”, and Shiro’s eyelids droop into a subdued, contemplative expression.

“Shiro.”

“Yes?”

“One day, we’re all gonna be happy, right? Everything will be all sorted out, we’ll have our lives and jobs figured out, and we’re going to be happy.”

Shiro frowns and places a hand on Lance’s shoulder.

“Lance, I… Life’s always going to have it’s good and bad times. But I promise you, when the good times come, they’re _good_. It’s the good times that keep you going, while the worst parts just make the best parts even better.”

Lance laughs, and Shiro thinks he’s going to collapse in relief. Lance seems to be a bit more of himself again.

“Well, when ya put it like that, everything seems good!” he beams, standing up.

Shiro watches the boy, and as he does, warm sunlight glows and reflects off Lance’s skin, his body becoming a piece of the amber sunset. The wind ruffles Lance’s hair and clothes, and when his eyes peek down, a sliver of his pupils are visible beneath tired, half-lidded eyes.

Shiro’s lips slightly part. He can’t look away. Lance is the sun right now, the slivers of his pupils glinting like sapphire shards in the bright light.

In this moment, Lance is agonizingly, unspeakably beautiful, and something in Shiro wants to cry.

Lance is forbidden fruit. A boy who sees him as a hero and recoils from the touch of metal but smiles like sunsets and flowers all the same.

A boy that Shiro has hopelessly fallen for.

Shiro wants to cry. He’s cursed himself, but he doesn’t have the strength to ignore it, and the cure is forbidden.

“Well, thanks for humoring me. I think I’ll be heading back home.”

Lance waves and turns around.

“WAIT!”

Lance jolts. He turns around, eyes wide as Shiro also scrambles to his feet, a hand outstretched.

“Wait wait wait! I need to get something! Stay here, okay?!”

Shiro turns and starts sprinting back towards the base. Lance sits back on the sand, frowning. He waits for roughly five or ten minutes, when Shiro finally reappears, gasping for breath, collapsing into the sand.

“Holy shit! Shiro!”

Shiro struggles to breathe, but he can’t even speak and he waves off Lance’s concern, greedily sucking in air as he lies limp on the ground. Instead, he just hands a small box to Lance. Lance looks at it in confusion, then takes off the lid. Shiro grins as he sees Lance’s eyes widen, and the boy holds one of the stones up to the sunlight.

“That’s thanks for the shirt,” he ekes out hoarsely as Lance marvels over the studs.

“Shiro, you didn’t have to! Were these expensive?!”

“No. They weren’t. It’s iolite, but guess what else they’re called.”

“What?”

“Water sapphires.”

Lance bursts out into a slew of laughter, and he clumsily puts on the studs, feeling for the holes in his ears and trying to get the backs on in one go.

“You gotta be kidding me, forreal?! Anyways, how’d they look?”

“Gorgeous.”

Shiro blushes and covers his mouth. Lance stares back, wide-eyed.

“Well, if you say so,” mumbles, getting up, feeling heat rush to his own face.

“Bye Shiro! See you Monday!”

Shiro merely waves, watching as Lance disappears into the distance before frantically texting Matt.

[I’ve fucked myself.]

Lance sings softly and keeps touching his ears, feeling the stones. He’ll have to hide them from Connor and the others, of course, but still… They’re a gift from Shiro, and Shiro called them gorgeous. These holes that made him remember sad things, because of that, he was able to get a gift from Shiro.

“The bad times make the good times better. So that’s what you mean.”

 

* * *

 

 

_Lance running into the fray like that was suicidal, but it’s also the only reason the two of them are alive right now in this riverbed. The water is slowly being clouded with alien guts, but feeling disgusting is a remarkably small price to pay for their lives. Shiro groans and splashes into bloody, flesh-filled water. He’s speaking into his helmet, telling the others the situation, when Lance comes barreling over, his helmet floating a few feet away. Lance grabs Shiro’s hands and hoists him up, howling with joy, leaping and taking the man into a few elated spins. The entire time Shiro’s still stunned and recovering, more preoccupied by the fact that right now Lance is glowing, brilliant and dazzling, sending Shiro’s brain into a chorus of ‘holy fuck’s’._

_He doesn’t remember when he pulled off his own helmet, but now Lance’s face is so close to his, still dripping with beads of water. The droplets all catch and refract the light as Lance leans in even closer in a single, quick lunge._

_“Laugh, Shiro! Laugh!”_

_And in that moment Shiro’s completely caught – hook, line, and sinker._

_“We’re alive, we’re alive, we’re alive!” the boy cheers, letting go to splash around in the shallows, loving life so much that Shiro can feel it spreading out and flowing into him as well, for the first time in so long._

_When was the last time he wanted to be alive?_

_From then, it’s all downhill. He becomes hyper-aware of Lance’s tics and particulars. His specific smiles for every situation, and how those flukes where Lance says the right thing at the right time aren’t always flukes, his thumbnail discreetly pressed to his lips before he acts all bright and bubbly again to drop some quip._

_At some point Shiro can’t keep telling himself that it’s just the suspension bridge effect, and he tries, he tries really hard to ignore the fact that it might be more than just simple infatuation._

_It all goes to hell when Lance is laying down, borrowing Hunk’s lap when his friend needs to get up._

_“Use Shiro,” Hunk jokes, and Lance pouts as Hunk leaves the lounge._

_“Fine then! Shiro, coming in.”_

_“Lance,” Shiro complains as he raises his arms to let the boy scoot underneath._

_“You aren’t saying ‘no’!” Lance snickers as he comfortably adjusts his head in Shiro’s lap._

_“Oh, soft!”_

_“Lance…”_

_Shiro sighs and lets Lance nap with his headphones on as he continues to look at the graphs of their supplies and usage trends. He feels Lance’s breathing slow, and once the boy is asleep he absentmindedly begins stroking the boy’s hair with his right hand, holding the datapad with his left. He can’t feel much with the prosthetic, but the motions are soothing enough, and he’s content right now, slowly being lulled into a daze._

_Quietly existing like this right now isn’t bad at all – this moment could go on forever and he wouldn’t mind._

_“Shiro, what are you doing?”_

_He looks over his shoulder to see Keith. In response, he raises the datapad._

_“I’m just looking over the Castle supplies. We seem to be going through a lot of training dummies lately. Is that you or any of the others?”_

_Keith blinks a few times, then shakes his head back and forth, the motions more pronounced than usual._

_“Shiro. What. Are you doing?” He asks, pointing at Lance. Shiro’s prosthetic is firmly placed on the boy’s head, the fingers rubbing and kneading at Lance’s scalp. Lance is beginning to snore._

_Shiro jerks away like he’s been burned, but luckily Lance stays asleep._

_“Whoops!” he says, playing off his lapse in pretty much everything related to common sense. “I didn’t notice.”_

_Keith doesn’t push it and walks in to look over the two of them, resting on the edge of the couch._

_“When you’d two get so comfortable around each other?”_

_In that moment, Shiro’s thumb skitters and he scrolls a whole five pages down. This deep-seated comfort and contentment that he feels around Lance can’t be excused by infatuation._

_It’s love._

 

“And there you have it, the whole sordid tale,” Shiro mutters, taking a long gulp of his drink.

“Well then, I have no idea how your boner works, and I’m not sure I want to know,” Matt says.

Shiro groans and slumps on his elbows on the table.

“You and me both, alright?”

“So why the hell aren’t you doing anything if you’re that fucking head-over-heels for Lance?”

“I’m his hero – a role model for him. Suddenly shifting roles like that feels a bit wrong.”

Matt pauses to take a sip, then shoots Shiro an accusing look so casually.

“You’re a better liar than that, Shiro. A _lot_ better.”

That’s why Shiro should talk to Matt about things like this, and no one else. Matt calls him out; never backs down when he’s made a mistake.

Of course Shiro’s good at lying. He’s only slipped up once, and that was when his parents found out. Just like that, his college acceptance was no good.

Matt’s still watching him, waiting for him to speak, and Shiro gives in, wondering when the lie burrowed itself so deeply into his brain that he forgot it was a lie.

“If you haven’t noticed, we’re both in therapy right now, with some pretty fucking impressive baggage,” Shiro says, ruefully waving his glass at Matt. “On top of that, I’ve got family stuff too.”

“So?”

“Lance is…” Shiro takes a drink, wondering in the back of his head how many more drinks he’ll need before he’s drunk enough to talk about this stuff clearly, but without feeling these things twisting in his chest and head.

“Lance would give everything to me.”

The words sound unbelievably selfish and stuck-up, but Shiro still says them anyways, because he knows that it’s the truth.

“Even if he didn’t like me, he’d still say yes, I bet, and give me his all. He’d do his best to support me, when I’m feeling both good and bad, but…”

Matt’s posture has finally changed, and he’s watching Shiro with a different expression now, something that he can’t quite decipher.

“Lance would ignore himself. He’d always be smiling, for my sake. Even if he’s hurt or wants to cry, he’d probably do it alone, and that’s not fair at all, am I right?” The words don’t make sense, but Shiro keeps talking, trying to string together something that can properly capture what he’s thinking.

“He makes me happy, and he grounds me, but I can’t do that for him if I’m having panic attacks, insomnia, stress, paranoia – that’s no good. What Lance really needs, is someone who can do that for _him_ , because he won’t do it for himself. I can’t be that person for him, so even if I like him, I won’t act on these feelings, because Lance needs ‘something else’, and I’m the exact opposite of that ‘something else’ right now.”

Matt is staring, wondering what to say. By now, he thought he’d be convincing Shiro to throw away his doubts and just confess to the kid, but now, he can’t say much.

Because Shiro’s _right_.

A self-sacrificing person like that needs someone that will ease them away from such habits, and feed them with more self-love. In contrast, right now he and Shiro need someone with boundless amounts of love, enough to support both a broken human being and themselves. Matt has his family, but Shiro is barely surviving on the dregs of his friends and a painful crush.

Shiro feels like shit.

He wanted to talk and drink with Matt to get his mind off how wonderful Lance was, and now he just feels uneasy and tense again. To make matters worse, it looks like he’s sucked up Matt into this melancholic mood too. To his surprise though, Matt slams his palms on the table.

“You know, so what?”

“Huh? I said, I can’t help-!”

“This is just all of our fucked up rambling! You two might not be good for each other, but right now we’re also talking about these hypotheticals! Like ‘what if’ the perfect person for him fucking shows up out of nowhere?! There’s no guarantee that that’ll happen, and also, there’s no guarantee that you’ll be just bad for him!”

“But Matt-“

“Be a little more selfish, Shiro! You two are both good people! Even if it’s doomed for failure, or even if you guys decide it’s better for the both of you to break up in the end, you’d still be friends, right? And at least you wouldn’t have to regret never ever telling him your feelings!”

Shiro stares up at Matt, wide-eyed.

“I should be… a little more selfish?”

Matt sits back down, glancing at Shiro from the corner of his eyes.

“...Yeah.”

He knows the gravity of what he’s just said. One reason why Shiro is Shiro is precisely because he’s not that selfish. It’s one of his traits that hasn’t changed, and one that’s made him seem like such a good man. On the other hand, people were _made_ to change, for better or for worse.

Still, this is Shiro they’re talking about. He’ll always change for the better. Matt smiles and faces Shiro properly.

“Shiro… Everything you said was right,” he says, and once again Shiro looks so confused, almost scared. “Even so, that’s why I think you two should still try, and work together to help each other. You both are strong, after all.”

Shiro stares back at him blankly, when he suddenly knocks back the rest of his whiskey in one go. Matt laughs and leans forward, propping his head up on an elbow.

“We can’t get drunk tonight,” he murmurs.

“No shit,” Shiro replies back through his glass.

The two of them look at each other through narrowed eyes for a quick second.

“Excuse me, one more!”

“Excuse me, one more!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ta-daaaaa! Done with this chapter finally! Thanks to everyone who's decided to stick with this fic for so long; I have no idea why but I appreciate it!


	6. Promises

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Realizations for the whole team occur, some good, some bad, some cathartic, and some just... questionable.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've finally returned! Sorry for leaving you guys hanging for so long, I really have no excuse.  
> It honestly blows my mind everytime I see all the comments and kudos and bookmarks on this fic, and I'm so glad that people like it so much!
> 
> We're slowly, clumsily stumbling towards something that you might call a climax?

_Kei was taller than him, smarter than him, and judging by who got more confessions, the more handsome one too. The only thing Shiro got to lord over his boyfriend was that he was tougher. Whenever they had playful, sweaty competitions in the privacy of Shiro’s room, he was always the one without fail to do more reps._

_“Don’t you ever get tired of those? You guys do enough during practice,” Kei drawled, leaning back over the bed._

_Shiro finished his last push-up and sat up, crossing his legs._

_“In my opinion, the basketball guys don’t do enough,” he replied, unable to resist a small jab._

_“Yeah, yeah, whatever. Come over.”_

_Shiro settled into Kei’s arms and the two sighed. Kei loved being able to hold Shiro, and Kei’s relaxed grip on him helped to ease the tension from his body. Shiro couldn’t help it_ _– he was a workaholic._

_The basketball star who rarely missed a free-throw and the baseball ace who could throw a mean pitch. If either one of them was a girl they’d surely be the school’s most fashionable couple, but it’d be hard for Shiro to pass as a girl, and buying the right outfits for the tall Kei would be nearly impossible._

_“You’re thinking about weird stuff again, aren’t you? Stop that.”_

_Kei’s voice was low and had a rich timbre, and the more Shiro listened, the more he relaxed; loosened his body within Kei’s arms._

_“Okay, okay. I’ll stop,” Shiro mumbled, before sitting a little straighter and looking over his shoulder at Kei._

_“Oh yeah, we still need to study for that math test tomorrow, right? You better not have forgotten-!”_

_“I didn’t forget.”_

_Kei laughed and rested his head on top of Shiro’s. It was warm and heavy, and Shiro just let it happen, satisfied for now._

_“I hope you mellow out by the time we get to college,” Kei whispered into Shiro’s ear, making the boy flush and pinch Kei._

_It was an empty wish, a joke that made the two of them chuckle._

_“We need to both get in first, and once we are, I’ll probably nag you even more. Also, you slack on chores, so I swear I’ll break up with you if you leave the dishes in the sink.”_

_Kei groaned playfully and the two pressed their smiles together, teeth still bared._

_“Boys, I brought-!”_

_The door opened and even though the two jerked away, Shiro’s mother still saw, and she dropped the tray with a crash that seemed to reverberate and echo way more than their tiny hall should have allowed._

_Kei was the relaxed one who kept Shiro, the fighter, in check. Maybe that’s why it didn’t work out in the end though. Kei didn’t want to start a fight with society that Shiro was more than ready to do._

_His application to the Garrison had been a fun joke, but now it was his only lifeline after being mentally lost and lifeless for the rest of the year. He got into the college, but he had no idea how to pay all the bills now that his parents had cut him off._

_They were hoping he’d come to his senses and kick off this phase of his, but something strange happened. He felt dead and empty in his head, but also… relieved. No more hiding from his parents. It was all out in the open. Shiro knew he should’ve just shut up and pretended to be “normal”, but that illogical part of his younger self didn’t seem willing to give up this newfound freedom. He was free, and it was both the best and worst thing ever._

_He threw himself into training in the Garrison, and with every class space become more and more vast and ethereal. He memorized constellation and planets and galaxies with the same fervor that he used to memorize pitching cues with._

_Space was… wonderful._

_He glossed over his old plan and rewrote his Garrison graduation and promotion goals over it instead, finally not groundless anymore. Shiro always needed a plan, and now he was determined to never be without one._

_His roommate also fit into the plan like a dream, an absolute genius who liked to study with him, and the two of them competed with and encouraged each other. Something twinged inside Shiro’s chest, and for a moment he was terrified that he was getting feelings for Matt. He couldn’t deal with another derailed plan, but the whole thing died off faster than expected, to his relief._

_“You were a baseball star, right? You must really love space if you moved all the way here and even rejected your college acceptance.”_

_Shiro blinked at the question, and without thinking spilled it all, words all tumbling out of his mouth in a messy story that stopped making sense maybe around sentence twenty-three or twenty-four._

_Matt stared at him, eyes slowly widening, mouth pulling taut into a thin line as he listened in horror._

_“Man… That’s fucked up. How could your parents do that? That’s so wrong! Where do they get off acting all high and mighty just ‘cause they didn’t disown you?! They still threw you out to dry, li-like, what the hell?”_

_Shiro looked over, watching indifferently as Matt talked furiously, and tears sprung from his eyes._

_He really wasn’t in the wrong? There really wasn’t anything wrong with him?_

 

Shiro wakes up with a groan. His tongue feels like a slimy brick in his dry mouth, and limbs are heavy and uncoordinated. Mumbling something under his breath, he carefully pulls Matt off his chest and sits up. It takes a moment for his empty head to get working again, pulling the cotton out puff by puff.

There’s no booze in his room, so that’s good. He purses his lips and holds his head, deep in thought and anticipating the beginning of a very mild hangover. He and Matt got very close to completely wasted at the bar, so they walked back, not getting back until it was insultingly late.

There’s something missing though. He sighs absentmindedly, and to his side Matt lets out a loud snore.

Shiro chokes and scrambles for his phone. It’s on its last his legs, and he dutifully plugs it in before going on a panicked scroll through his messages.

He’s literally sent Lance an unfathomable amount of gibberish and fumbled gifs from when he was wrestling for the phone with Matt, and the blocks of text and images are interspliced by questioning replies from Lance, increasing in confusions as the texts go on, before he scrolls near the bottom.

[Lance: holy shit shiro are u DRUNK????]

[Lance: GROUP CHAAAAAAAAT]

Shiro groans and spins around to glare at Matt. The man drools and grumbles before turning on the couch.

“No, I am _not_ drunk confessing, and you’re also going down with me.”

Matt mutters something incoherent and limply flops about.

[Shiro: Sorry about last night, I went drinking with Matt and we kind of overdid it.]

[Lance: sfine lol]

Another bubble pops up underneath, and before Lance even has a chance to send something else, Shiro stumbles over and takes a short video of Matt drooling and blabbering, sending it as soon as he can.

[Lance: …u know pidge is TOTALLY getting that, rite?]

[Shiro: WE’RE IN THIS TOGETHER, MATT’S JUST GONNA HAVE TO DEAL WITH IT]

[Lance: pffft, im sensing some negativity here yo]

[Shiro: I ALMOST MADE A BIG MISTAKE LAST NIGHT BECAUSE OF HIM]

The rapid-fire response Shiro’s expecting doesn’t come. He stares at his screen for a minute, caught between putting his phone away and waiting, while also knowing that a message could come at any time.

A bubble appears.

[Lance: Shiro, you shouldn’t drink if stuff like that happens when you do.]

It’s a serious response, and Shiro scrambles to type something back.

[Shiro: No, no – I’m not that careless, just exaggerating. It wasn’t a big mistake. Just something that would be embarrassing.]

Shiro frowns at his phone, frowning as he realizes he’s trying to excuse himself to _Lance_ of all people. He sends the message, wondering if Lance really dislikes alcohol. He’s not dumb; he’s pretty sure the others might have partied a little while in the Garrison, but the topic never had a reason to come up, except when he scolded them all and told them to stay away from suspicious alien beverages.

[Lance: whoops, ur right. Sorry for sounding so pushy see ya Monday]

[Shiro: No, it’s fine. I’ll see you Monday too.]

 

Lance promptly slaps his phone onto the floor, face-down. His entire face feels hot, and he softly groans and presses his palms over his eyes.

What was he thinking, trying to lecture _Shiro_? The guy has his entire life together – after all the bullshit he’s been through in space, he deserves at least _one day_ to let loose with a friend, right? It’s already late in the morning, and Sam and Max are being distracted by this TV show that they say is their new favorite. It’s about-

Lance shudders and tries to curl in, but Connor presses a hard hand down onto his chest, his other arm keeping Lance’s legs flat. The man’s humping against him, and Lance just wants Connor to hurry up and finish. The bedroom door isn’t locked, and Sam and Max might walk in and see something horrible. Connor presses into him with extra force, and Lance’s voice jumps.

“Shiro-!” he whispers, before covering his mouth in horror. Connor’s grunting, and Lance sighs in relief. He’s been giving in to Connor a lot more recently, trying to prevent any new bruising. He can just imagine how awkward it’ll be to go to the beach and explain his injuries to the others. One stress-free day at the beach is all he wants, and if this is the price he must pay, so be it.

Tom’s activity seems to have died down since last time, and the trick to avoiding visible injuries from Connor is to only appear when he’s drunk. If he’s sober, he’ll hit, but if Lance spoils him while he’s drunk, he’s more placid off the bottle as well. He’ll yell and intimidate, but he won’t hit. Anna and Damien have been out, trying to enjoy the last dregs of the weekend, and Carmen is running some errands for now, leaving Lance and Connor as the main babysitters. Lance’s dad silently watches the show with Max and Sam.

Connor comes, and he gets off Lance, a literal weight being lifted from his chest and groin. Connor leaves the boy to clean himself off as he pulls up his pants and goes to some other bathroom. Lance sighs, letting his body loosen, despite the disgusting stickiness between his legs and his mild erection.

A buzz from his phone makes him jolt, and he pulls up his pants as well before looking at his phone again.

[HOLY FUCK TIDDIES: Sorry to bother you again, but you weren’t being pushy. You have every right to be worried about something like that. It was very thoughtful of you.]

“Fuck, don’t do this to me, Shiro,” Lance grumbles, squinting at the message. It’s textbook Shiro, and reeks of a teacher talking to a kid, but at the same time, the time gap between the goodbye message and this new one is definitely suspicious.

“Please just give me the sibling-zone at least,” Lance prays.

There are distinct advantages to the sibling-zone that the friend-zone does not have – namely more physical contact and nicer treatment. The disadvantage is that all hope of a relationship goes out the window, but Lance has got nothing to lose.

He gets up, freezing as he feels Connor’s semen mixing with his precum and running down his legs.

Lance’s breath hitches, and he laughs nervously.

“Oh, gross gross gross!” he whispers, trying to joke to himself while he rushes to the bathroom to clean up.

Water runs over his skin, and his mind gets permission to let go. He stands under the shower, head empty. Something filters at the edge of his consciousness, but he brushes it away. It comes back, more forceful, a tendril pressing against his walls. It’s his own his mind trying to tell him something, but there’s something else mixed in, something that’s not him, holding that tendril of consciousness, helping it push against his dissociation.

Scarlet and crimson slashed through with streaks of azure and cerulean explode into his vision, blinding his world, stunning him into awareness, and he stumbles back on the pebbly surface of the tub, wincing as he knocks over a shampoo bottle that bangs on tile.

“Ow! Owowow!”

He pulls away his fingers, staring as the globules of blood on his nails are washed away. Stunned, he quickly looks at his thigh, where he’s been scratching and picking without thinking for the past couple minutes. The newest cuts have reopened, and now dozens of thin fingernail scratches are also on his skin, raw and inflamed.

“Aw, shit,” he mumbles. “Thanks, Beautiful. Thanks, Gorgeous.”

The shower makes them sting, and he winces and forces himself to clean his new cuts thoroughly.

He gets out of the shower and quickly bandages his thighs before dressing himself, hair still wet when the door downstairs creaks and squeaks loudly.

“Mom!”

“Mommy!”

Max and Sam rush over to hug Carmen, clinging to her tightly as she sways around with them in her arms.

“Oh man, I missed you two, my babies!”

Lance’s feet are pattering downstairs, but a hand shoots out and grips him by the wrist. Connor pulls Lance back, and the boy twists around to stare with wide eyes. The predatory feeling that swirls around Connor is strong, and it chokes Lance, settling on him like a lead blanket. He nearly tugs away in terror before he remembers sunshine, and he holds his ground.

He can’t give Connor an excuse to hit him, so he stands there, smiling a smile that cuts off at his frantic eyes. There’s something terribly wrong, and his mind works in overdrive, trying to figure out just what is making him want to run away so badly right now, even while Connor looks so calm and lucid.

Lucid?

_Lucid?_

Lance’s breathing catches in his throat, and his body is frozen, caught between two dilemmas. One part of him is telling him to run away and just risk the pain, while the other tells him to hold on, hold on, hold on, hold on, hold on, to _hold on_ -

_Connor has sobered up a little._

It’s all wrong, Connor isn’t supposed to horny for Lance when he’s not completely wasted. Why is there a _change_? This is a _bad change_ , and bad changes usually mean something **really bad** is about to happen and Lance needs to get the _fuck away_ **BUT** he can not since sand-waves-beach-shiro- **EVERYONE WILL BE THERE** and it’s going to be so much _fun_ if he can STOP BEING SO _WEAK_ -!

Connor holds Lance’s wrist, and when Lance smiles, the man feels his entire chest burst and overflow.

That smile is Camille’s smile, subdued and soft, and lately Lance has been so submissive like Camille that he can’t believe it all. He’s overjoyed and he can’t remember the last time he felt so alive – the last time he bathed in Camille’s warmth.

He might have Camille back soon, there’s just one problem.

He kisses the frozen Lance, hidden away on the stair’s blind spot, where the stairwell curves sharply and rises. Downstairs the children play with their mother, and Connor relishes Lance’s firm mouth, lightly biting the boy’s plump bottom lip, a mauve curve that sometimes reminds Connor of a slice of peach covered in gleaming sugar syrup.

He pulls away, leaning in to whisper one question.

“Who is Shiro?”

The switch is flipped for Lance; the dilemma solved. He twists his arm and rips his wrist out of Connor’s grasp, sprinting downstairs, his long legs skipping down by twos. He rushes into the foyer, breathing hard, and he awkwardly looks away from the stairs.

“Lance, what’s wrong?” Carmen asks.

“Nothing, nothing!” he smiles and waves away her concern. He ruffles Max and Sam’s hair, using the sensation to calm his frantic heart. Sam and Max are talking to him about that TV show again. The main character saved the princess, but he made a mistake. He kidnapped the princess from the lady knight who already saved her! And now even though the new knight and the lady knight are on the same side, because of the new knight’s mistake, the lady knight is coming to rescue back her princess!

Lance has to admit, this kid’s show has a fun sounding plot. He should watch it with the kiddies sometimes. He sighs, feeling his mind settling back down. He glances up at Carmen, who looks away, and just for today, he feels exasperated enough to keep staring at her, silently prodding her to say something.

“Are you planning anything special  for the weekend?” he asks.

“Y-yes. I’m taking Sam and Max out for lunch.”

“Cool, have fun!”

“I’ll help you clean up later.”

“Oh, thanks.”

The house still looks like a mess. It’s going to take some time, and Lance appreciates Carmen pitching in. He still needs to go grocery shopping, and the laundry has built up a little, so today’s going to be busy.

“Welcome back,” Connor says.

“I’m gonna go!” Lance shouts, louder than expected, swerving around Connor to go back upstairs.

He locks himself in the kids’ room, heading straight for the bedside counter. He opens a drawer then reaches in palm up, feeling around the underside of the drawer above. His fingers brush against plastic superglued there, a small bag containing the earrings. Glancing around and listening carefully, Lance takes out the stones and watches the studs shift colors under the sunlight streaming in through the slats of the blinds. The room is warm, and the light makes the dust inside float about, white specks dancing around a space saturated in golden-toned hues. The iolite is a warm blue, and Lance pushes them through his earlobes, wincing as he still remembers the sensation of flesh resisting, then giving in under a safety pin – a quarter note-eighth note beat playing out with his body as the instrument.

He opens his eyes, and as he crouches and peers into the closet mirror, his jaw drops.

Under sunlight, the stones sparkle, and his eyes match, gleaming and bright.

Lance rolls back on his heels, letting his body fall back. Absentmindedly, he digs through the stuffed animals to pull out his phone. The groupchat is already going wild – has been since last night. Shiro’s video is just more fuel for the fire.

[Gremlin: Oh wow so HES allowed to get WASTED after telling me for yrs not to?!]

[BEST Bro: It’s the older sibling advantage, I think.]

[Emo mullet: Hey, youre not the only one! Shiro never stopped lecturing me either! And he’s not my older brother!]

Lance snickers and quickly types back.

[Handsomest boi: mentor counts as older sibling lol plus u can drink soon]

[Emo: whatever]

[Gremlin: im SO yelling at matt right now]

[Emo: I’ll go see if Shiro needs any help.]

[Handsomest boi: go get im pidge]

[BEST Bro: I still can’t believe Shiro butt-texted you while he was drunk]

[Gremlin: those screenshots were WILD]

[BEST Bro: they were pre-tty drunk when they came back]

Hunk waits leisurely as the meringues bake in the oven. The syrup he wants to try drizzling over them is done, but right as he’s about to type some more, he gasps in shock. The gears spin in his head, and in a moment of divine genius, the puzzle pieces all line up, inspiration gelling together in a perfect moment of serendipity.

Matt and Shiro were fighting over a phone, and Matt was yelling “confess, confess!” the whole time. Meanwhile at the same time Lance starts sending screenshots of horrible, messy texts from Shiro. The awkwardness, the small smiles and stares – it all makes sense now. Hunk hops off the stool and rushes for Shiro’s room, banging on the door as hard as he can and nearly barreling into the man.

“Hunk, what’s wrong?!”

“You like Lance?!”

Shiro’s eyes widen so much that they’re like saucers in his face, and as his face pales, he wordlessly looks around Hunk at the door way.

Pidge is dumbstruck, her face completely flat, clattering echoing in the room as the phone slips out of her hand. Keith looks like he’s trying to decide whether he should be shocked _and_ horrified, or just shocked, his face tearing between the two options.

“You _what_?!”

“Shiro, are you-! Are you s-serious?! Wha- I mean, Lance isn’t bad, but?!” Keith stutters.

“I-! I just… Give me some time!” Shiro pleads, trying to calm everyone down.

At that moment, Matt rolls off the couch with a loud _thump_.

He crawls up, yawning and rubbing at his eyes.

“Hmmmph… Whad I missss?”

 

Shiro folds his arms and takes deep breaths as Matt howls with laughter on the side and the others interrogate him with questions.

“Enough!” he roars, and to his surprise, they all turn quiet.

“First things first. Yes, I’m pretty sure about this whole… thing,” he mutters, groaning as he can feel the embarrassment swamp him.

Keith jerks up, suddenly remembering something.

“Back then, when I saw Lance sleeping on your lap. You were touching his hair. Back then… Already?”

“Yeah.”

“Two years?!”

Pidge and Hunk stare up in shock, and Shiro slightly scoots back, eventually nodding.

“Matt?”

“Yeah, Katie?”

“I take back everything I ever said about your sappy crush on Sasha McGrath your freshman year.”

“Apology accepted.”

Shiro just covers his face and groans, and Hunk gives him reassuring pats on the back.

“Are you gonna confess?” he asks.

Shiro shrugs, and loosens up his body with a sigh. It’s too early for all of this, even if it is almost one in the afternoon.

“I… don’t know.”

He warily looks to Matt, then looks back at the rest of them. He can’t be as honest with them as he was with Matt, last night, but… he needs courage right now, a kind of courage that’s different from the kind that’s needed for war and plunging into battles.

“Guys, I… Would us being together be any good in the first place?”

“Probably,” Keith says without hesitation. The others swivel around to face him in shock.

“He’ll help you relax, and you’re good at encouraging people. The two of you together… It sounds about right.”

Shiro’s eyes widen, but before he can say anything, Pidge runs over to give Keith a couple knocks on the head.

“Did you get bodysnatched? Keith, you sound way too reasonable right now!”

“Give me _some_ credit, will you?!”

“Oh man, you’re _totally_ right!” Hunk cheers, picking Keith up in a crushing full-body hug. “You’re so right!”

Keith stutters but doesn’t squirm and lets Hunk swing him around like a ragdoll.

“So, now that you’ve gotten their blessing, you gonna confess?” Matt asks.

Shiro looks up at Keith, who flashes a small smile in return. Somehow, along the way, Keith really matured. What Keith sees is on the surface, but at the same time it goes deeper than that. The reason he sees those things on the surface, is because those traits are from the core of their being. Lance wants people to be happy, and Shiro wants people to see the good in themselves.

The other stuff all matters, but the simplest, most honest view looks so optimistic right now.

“This Friday,” Shiro announces, looking them all in the eyes. “I swear, after the beach this Friday, I’ll tell.”

He sighs and laughs.

“Even if he says ‘no’, I’ll be satisfied. Everyone, don’t let me chicken out!”

The others laugh, and they bunch in around Shiro.

“As if we’ll let you!” Pidge yells, poking Shiro in the ribs.

 

Lance curls up on the floor, listening to the twins sleep soundly in their bed. Connor’s not acting like the usual, and the unpredictability means that he’s stuck in this house with a prowling monster that he can’t prepare for. Cutting’s been helping his head keep on straight, but hiding it is tiring, and he can feel his brain hitting some sort of limit.

Maybe limit’s the wrong word.

It’s all the boiling, rushing feelings that he’s always kept hidden, but now more and more is being injected in, tension and irritation and shame and desperation tingling in his spine and gut, making his heart stutter and run too fast almost every hour every day. He’s never hungry and he’s not sure what sleeping is anymore, just letting his body pass out whenever it wants to. The twins are trying to be his therapists and protectors but it’s not their job, Carmen needs to take care of them but she’s too busy to, and this whole house is minefield that Lance has to take care of. The groceries and laundry and the dishes and all the other chores – he needs to take care of his family because he promised, but even he’s starting to let go of the delusions, watching Sam and Max sleep.

Lance shudders and sits up, pressing a hand to a thigh under his shorts. The band aids are smooth surfaces plastered over skin lined with ridges, and Lance rubs at them, annoyed at how they’re beginning to itch.

He wants to eat Hunk’s cooking, shoveling down food that always makes him ravenous, all while talking about the random stuff on their brains. He wants to play games with Pidge and hem and haw as she prattles on about some obscure topic, forgetting about all his worries for the day. He wants to study with Keith and tease the young man for forgetting so much, and feel like he’s doing something that makes him valuable for once.

He wants to sleep together with Shiro again in that comfy bed, feeling the safest, most relaxed he’s ever been.

Lance sighs, crawling over to the closet and dragging his blanket behind him. In a corner of this small, dark space, he piles on the stuffed animals and his blanket, making a small nest.

Now for the most important part.

He tightly hugs an armful of stuffed animals, snugly wrapped within his makeshift cocoon, and with the artificial feeling of holding someone, he curls in and finally, _finally_ falls deep into sleep.

 

A soft knocking on the door of the closet sounds in his head. The faint noise is soft and rhythmic – blessedly patient and Lance can definitely appreciate that.

“Lance!”

“Uncle!”

The boy jolts awake, knocking over the stuffed animals and his blanket.

“I’m up, I’m up!” he yells, almost leaping out of the closet, nearly banging his head on the door before shoving it open. He spills out with a small wave of stuffed animals.

“What is it who’s hurt?!” he blurts out, looking all over the room.

Max snickers, and Sam waves a phone in front of Lance’s face.

“The alarm’s been going off.”

Lance reaches for his phone, stopping the alarm and checking the time. He glances at it, and it’s halfway to the ground before he freezes and frowns. His arm creeps back up towards his face. He should press that button on his phone, but still, he hesitates.

“Oh god no,” he mumbles under his breath, and presses.

The numbers flash, and the boy screeches and jumps up, running in place.

“Max, Sam, go clean up, hurry! You got ten minutes to get downstairs so GO!”

The two jump and rush off, and Lance quickly pulls on some random clothes and runs to the kitchen, sighing and cringing before he sacrifices his morning routine for a quick splash of water on his face and a short rinse in his mouth at the kitchen sink. There’s no time to actually cook anything good, so he gets the toasters going as he cuts up some fruit. He grumbles and peers back into the refrigerator, pulling out the peanut butter and jam.

“Finally gonna make a normal one for the kiddies huh,” he mutters.

The toaster pops as the toast finishes, and he squeaks and rips it out by the fingertips, dropping the slices onto a plate before he burns himself. Immediately he puts in new bread and pushes down the button before slathering peanut butter and jam onto the toast. He hesitates a little as he wonders if he should put a peanut butter covered knife into the jam jar, then shrugs and digs the blade in.

He gets everything done right as Sam and Max run down, and without further ado the two of them start shoveling down all the food. He packs their lunches and quickly shoves down a piece of toast himself.

“Done!”

“Done.”

“Cool, grab your stuff and go outside. I’ll put everything away in the sink.”

The two run off, disappearing behind a corner, and he smiles. They’re honestly the best kids in the entire universe. He piles up the plates in his hands and goes back to the sink to rinse them off. As he runs water over them, he hums the same song he hummed to Shiro, his focus shifting from under his hands to more in his head.

“Hello, gorgeous,” Connor says, cupping his ass in a hand.

He needs to think up a new nickname for Red _pronto_.

The dishes clatter into the sink, and he twists around to face Connor. Without thinking, his hands raise up to his chest, pressing into his sternum, as if they can protect his heart and stop it from beating so hard right now.

“Morning.”

The man looks down at him, and Lance wishes for the millionth time that he had an extra three inches on his height. At least that way he’d never have to feel like Connor was looking down on him, a bug under a scope, squirming and vulnerable.

“You didn’t answer my question yesterday, gorgeous. Who’s ‘Shiro’?”

Lance laughs and clenches his teeth while he smiles. His hands clutch at each other, the nails digging in the skin of his knuckles. For some reason, it’s the wrong thing to do.

Connor grabs Lance’s shoulders and _pushes_ , bending Lance back over the sink.

“Answer.”

“Just… Someone I met in space,” Lance says, half-lying and unwilling to meet Connor’s eyes. He seethes as Connor’s grip on him increases, a dull pain beginning to seep in at the points of contact.

“You think you have a chance with this ‘Shiro’ person huh? Well I’m gonna tell ya right now – Not! Possible!”

He slams Lance into the sink once, twice, then keeps talking. Lance squeezes his eyes shut.

“Look at yourself! You’ve never done anything right your whole life – you’re not good for anything! Give up!”

Connor keeps waiting for a response that won’t come, and in response he flings Lance to the ground. Lance grunts and sits up against the cabinet, still and quiet. Connor slams his foot right next to Lance’s face, and the boy pales, but refuses to say a thing.

He rubs at his legs, trying to will them to move, but they lay on the ground, trembling. For a moment, Lance wonders if they’re still attached to his body. He needs to get up, but can’t.

“Listen to me!”

Pain blooms in his stomach, the kick from Connor heavy and merciless, and right at that moment his phone alarm rings again.

The curse on him is broken.

“SorryIneedtogo!” he shouts, scrambling up and running away and outside. He needs to go to the base right now, and he needs to walk with Sam and Max. He can’t afford to sit about and be kicked around.

“What took you so long?” Sam asks while Lance unlocks his bike and slings his bag over a shoulder.

“Nothing much. I just lost a little focus.”

 

“Hunk! You good?!” Pidge yells from the ground.

“Yea! Gimme a sec!”

Hunk pulls the sensors and nodules off one the cores of the green Lion. A quick check to make sure the readings have been properly done, and he flips a switch to lower the lift. It’s been a long day, but they can’t slack. Unlike Lance who’s apparently been randomly dozing off in class sometimes.

“What do you see?” he asks, walking over with his bundles of wires and counters. Pidge scrolls through her tablet with a few finger swipes, then peeks back at her laptop screen.

“We haven’t been using them as often, so the energy readings have all lowered to show the Lions entering some kind of semi-dormant state. The interesting thing is that Red and Blue have had strange spikes over the past couple weeks, where their baselines temporarily reverted back to an active state.”

The two glance up at each other.

“Lance.”

“Lance.”

Pidge grumbles and folds her arms.

“I think it’s his crush on Shiro.”

Hunk falls into the chair next to Pidge, frowning.

“Oh god I’m glad I’m not the only one who sees it, right? It’s definitely there, for sure! I mean, I was a bit iffy about it on Shiro’s side, but now that we know, it’s pretty cool, right? An actual power couple!”

Pidge laughs and leans far back, fidgeting in her seat.

“Mm, yeah! Wait, why didn’t we see any fluctuations in Black then?” she puzzles, twisting around. Hunk quickly braces the chair so that it doesn’t topple over.

“Maybe Shiro was being calmer about it?”

“’Calmer’?! You saw him yesterday! He was like a kicked puppy! It was insane!”

The two grumble to themselves, when Pidge finally opens her eyes.

“Hey,” she begins softly, “you’ve known Lance the longest, right? How’d you two meet?”

“Oh, we were penpals!”

Pidge rolls around, her face incredulous.

“Wait. Please tell me you weren’t snail mail penpals oh my god that would _suck_.”

“No, no; email penpals! It was real popular back when we were in in elementary school! A buncha teachers joined this online program, and your students would get randomly paired with another student your same age who knew the same language from all over the world!”

“So you got Lance. I can’t believe you’ve known each other for so long then.”

“Yeah. We both like to say it was fate. Still nearly failed that assignment though, you know?!”

“Pfffft, yeah right. I bet Lance never shut up!”

“You’d think, right?! He hardly ever wrote a thing, and I always kept pushing him to write more, or else I’d lose points!”

Pidge gasps and rolls over, her stomach pressing into the back of the chair as she leans over, eyes wide.

“Hurry up! Details! I need to know more about pre-shitty-casanova Lance!”

“Well…”

Hunk makes sure that Pidge’s chair is stable on the floor before he shuts his eyes to think back.

“Ohhhhhh my god. His emails were super flat, y’know? All short sentences and vague answers. Think… _lone-wolf-ish_.”

At that, Pidge’s eyes bug out, and her jaw drops. She gets off the chair and scoots it closer to Hunk.

“Holy crap. Lil’ Lance was… _Keith_?”

The two break out into short peals of laughter, and the more they talk, the closer Pidge pushes her chair closer to Hunk until they’re side by side, gossiping about Lance.

“-so yeah, I’m pretty sure Lance learned everything about flirting from those movies we watched while screen-sharing.”

“That’s _amazing_. No wonder he’s terrible!”

Hunk sighs and the two giggle a little more.

“He always got into accidents. Everytime we videocalled, there was something new. Dude, one time he broke two fingers falling from a tire swing, so we literally _only_ video-called until they healed up!”

Pidge laughs and gets off of Hunk’s lap.

“Wha? Being a diva again? I thought he was ambidextrous.”

“Oh, he said his family kept making him use his right hand, even though he’s left-handed. Didn’t want to his parents to see him typing with just his left hand.”

“That’s so bad for you though!”

“I guess.”

Pidge frowns and pulls her knees into her chest, suddenly contemplative and silent.

“Hey… he used to be a bit like Keith, yeah?”

“Well, nicer than Keith! He didn’t get angry easily or anything like that! He just… I dunno, he couldn’t seem to ever think of anything to write about, now that I think about it.”

The answer only turns Pidge’s frown into a scowl, and she stares into empty space, adjusting her glasses.

“Hunk, maybe Lance played it off back then, but think about it. If you were a parent, even if you didn’t like your kid being a lefty, if their right hand was broken, you’d probably make an exception, right? God, just the whole ‘anti-lefty’ thing is already super dumb!”

Hunk stiffens, and he starts picking at his nails, the gears in both of their heads spinning.

“Lance is pretty strong and flexible – he’s clumsy and he gets into a lot of accidents, but not nearly as many as before…”

“…When he was at home,” Pidge finishes, her hands clenching up on her legs into tight fists.

“M-Maybe we’re just being paranoid!”

“But what if we aren’t?!”

“Well, what do we do then?!”

“I-I dunno! I don’t wanna make things worse!”

Pidge hisses out a long breath through her teeth, thinking and thinking and trying to remember, holding her head.

“How could we be so stupid?! The Lions react to their pilots being in danger! Hell, Red locked up Lance ‘cause she didn’t want him going back home! It all makes sense! Hunk!”

Before she can say anything else, Hunk pulls her into a tight hug, letting her tears wet his shirt.

“It’s not your fault Pidge. If anything, it’s mine. He’s my best friend, and I- and I-!”

Pidge sniffles and looks up, pouting.

“Don’t you dare cry. You’re the nicest person ever – of course you wouldn’t expect Lance to lie to you!”

“No, it’s not just that,” Hunk says, remembering the scars that he saw one time in the Garrison, which Lance made him swear to secrecy.

“I… Um… What’s the plan now?”

Pidge lets Hunk hug her, gently stroking her hair.

“I… I don’t know.”

The sheer magnitude of it all finally hits her, like a bag of bricks suddenly dropped on her shoulders.

“Hunk,” she says, her voice cracking, “ _I don’t know!_ ”

 

“Whoa, Pidge! Are you getting enough sleep?!”

“She never does,” Keith says, walking over to peer at the girl with Lance.

“You seriously don’t notice? Look, she’s all slumped and stuff!”

“You’re overreacting,” Keith says.

“Am not!”

“Fine then. Are you sleeping right, Pidge?” Keith asks.

Pidge shakes her head, groaning. Shiro notices the noise and walks over, concern creasing his brow.

“Are you getting sick? If you want, we can cancel the beach trip tomorrow,” he says. At that, Pidge completely wakes up.

“No! I’m fine! It’s just this bit of code that I’ve been playing around with too much lately!” she shouts.

“Make sure you sleep well tonight then.”

“I will, Shiro.”

The man walks over to Hunk, who seems similarly dazed.

“Hunk, are you and Pidge working on something together? You both look so tired?”

“Ah, uh! N-no! Nothin’!”

Pidge and Hunk glance at each other.

“Nothing.”

“Nothing.”

Pidge grabs Lance’s hands, tugging down on them.

“Lance, stay over tonight too! You have to go back home after the beach tomorrow, so hang out with us tonight! Another game night!”

“Wha-? I… I dunno. It’ll be kinda short notice, and you’ll have to wait for me to finish taking Sam and Max back home.”

“D-don’t chicken out this time!” Pidge snaps. “We still need to finish the multiplayer campaign! Me and Hunk will just tag along with you back home! We waited for you last time, you know?”

She’s just throwing out random suggestions, but she’s not sure if it’s gonna work. They’re losing Lance, but right then, Hunk comes over, all while Keith and Shiro watch the whole thing, slightly puzzled.

“Dude, lemme raid your fridge. I’ll take of the cooking. Again.”

At that, Lance whips up, eyes shining.

“Really?!”

“Yeah. Let’s do some grocery shopping after this. I’m kinda getting tired of Garrison food. I’ll make dinner for everyone, and you guys can help out.”

At that, both Keith and Shiro perk up, the two sidling in.

“Lance, just let them go with you,” Shiro says, wondering what divine creation Hunk’s going to think of this time. “Oh, don’t forget to bring a bag with you, alright? Should I drive you all?”

“I-If we’re going grocery shopping afterwards, yeah… We’ll need the car,” Lance quietly whispers. The excitement is getting replaced by panic, as he wonders what he’s going to do when the inevitable finally happens – everyone piled up in a house that used to be too full but is now too empty.

Hunk slaps a fist in his palm and looks up at Keith.

“Keith, we can’t just ditch you! You have to come too!”

The man flushes and holds his neck, looking away from them all.

“Shiro’s car can’t fit all of us and Lance’s cousins though.”

“We’ll walk back with Lance, and once we’re ready to leave, we’ll just text you guys and Shiro can drive over with you.”

Pidge wants to cry over Hunk’s quick thinking, and even if he’s trying not to show it, she can see the smile ghosting over Keith’s lips.

“It’s set then,” Shiro says. “You okay with all of this, Lance?”

“Why wouldn’t I be?”

Lance laughs and smiles, but again, he can feel his heart start beating at the speed of light again, cold sweat beginning to run down his back.

He walks with his bike, but at some point Pidge hijacks it and he and Hunk sprint after her, screaming.

“Your legs are too long!” she screeches, her feet bouncing off the pedals until she squeezes the handbrakes as hard as she can, nearly launching herself off right before Lance and Hunk snatch her up by the collar. She groans as she has to listen to them scold her for the rest of the way.

“Whoa! You brought your friends, uncle!” Sam says, looking up at Hunk and Pidge.

“Um, yeah. Hey, kiddies, I’m actually staying over tonight too, soooo….”

“Can we sleep over at Mimi’s house then?!”  
“Can we sleep over at Mimi’s house then?!”

Lance stares in shock at the two of them, then silently nods, guilt eating away at his chest. How many times have they not done anything with friends just because of him?

“Sure, go call them.”

Sam pulls out her phone, while Max ambles in front of Hunk.

“Hmmmm…. I know you’re Hunk, the ‘strongest guy in the universe and the bestest friend’, and you’re Pidge, right?! The genius and the smartest person in the universe!”

“Yep, that’s me!” Pidge says, grinning widely. She looks at Lance with a smug look.

“So. The ‘smartest person in the universe’, huh?”

“’Bestest friend’? Awwww, thanks dude!”

Lance flushes and covers his face.

“Me and my big mouth,” he mumbles.

“And we love it!” Hunk yells, squeezing them all into a hug.

“Alright! Mimi’s mom will pick us up from our house!”

“No dinner then?”

“No dinner, but we still need to pack a bag!”

“Cool.”

The five of them walk back, talking and joking, and Lance is glad to see that Max and Sam immediately take to Pidge and Hunk. Sam’s doing his best to try to follow along with Pidge, and Pidge couldn’t be more satisfied and happy looking every time Sam asks her to stop and explain something. Hunk is whispering… something to Max, and judging from the way they’re both laughing, it’s probably about him.

Still, the closer they get, the more he needs to force himself to keep up the pace; to not slack. His mind blanks out, and before he knows it, they’re inside, and the twins are busy shoving things into their backpacks.

“Dude, you need a bag too,” Hunk tells him.

“Oh yeah. You’re right!”

Lance scampers away somewhere with the twins, and Hunk and Pidge look around, wondering if there will be some obvious clue, but there’s none.

Just a slightly messy house.

It’s pointless trying to look for some cliché signs, but they can’t help it.

“Hm, who’re you guys?”

Pidge jumps and spins around to face a young man with bleached hair.

“Um, hi. We’re Lance’s friends. We just came back with him,” she says, feeling her voice trail off.

“Y-yea! We’ll be gone soon!” Hunk adds.

They both study the man’s face, but he smiles and nods.

“Oh, is that so? I’m Tom, Lance’s older brother!”

He’s friendly and amiable, and for a moment Pidge and Hunk wonder if they both mistaken, and if they’ve just become too paranoid over the years, until Hunk forces himself to remember Lance’s scars – those slim cuts on Lance’s thighs.

“Really? It’s nice to meet ya’!”

Before Tom can react, he purposely goes over and crushes Tom with a back-breaking hug. Even Pidge winces as she catches how tightly Hunk squeezes.

“Haha, sorry about that! Nice to meet ya too! Just call me Pidge! Hunk gives us all hugs like that,” she lies, probing Tom’s expression for any change. There’s a slight twitch in an eye and nothing else, to his credit. She starts texting Shiro as soon as she can.

“I’m done!” Lance calls, trotting downstairs with a backpack. Sam and Max are both behind him, but as soon as he sees Tom, he pauses. Instead, he slowly goes down the rest of the stairs, warily watching them all.

“Tom, when did you get back?” he asks cheerfully, hopping down the last stair to smile at them all.

Sure Lance’s head is going light and his mouth has mysteriously gone bone dry in seconds, but his smile seems to slightly defuse the tension that’s practically rolling off of Hunk and Pidge. Pidge is better at hiding it, but it’s still there, in her stiff shoulders and the scrunched curve of her mouth.

“I’ve been here,” Tom answers coolly. “Didn’t know you were bringing friends over. Does Connor know?”

“We’re leaving soon!” Hunk splutters. “Pidge, you already texted Shiro, right?”

“Yep!” she aggressively chirps, sticking her arm straight up, hand brandishing the cellphone as if it were her Bayard.

“Oh cool!” Lance says. Sam and Max place themselves firmly next to Hunk and Pidge as he makes his way over. Tom’s never been mean to the twins or hurt them, but they’ve seen his tempers – seen how nasty he can get.

“Soooo, how long?”

“Fifteen minutes give or take,” Pidge answers. She tries to hide her glum look to the side, and outside, a car horn beeps.

“That’s Mimi’s mom!” Sam shouts, rushing to the door with Max close behind.

“Ah, text me if anything happens!” Lance yells at them, before they disappear into the sensible-looking minivan that Lance thought Shiro would have. The car drives off, and Lance is glad that they didn’t have to stay a minute longer in this place.

The four of them are left alone, standing in the foyer, silently wondering what to say. Even Tom isn’t unscathed by the awkwardness, beginning to shuffle his feet from side to side.

“So, you look pretty young. Just joined the Garrison?” he asks Pidge, a hint of patronization in his voice for the young girl.

“No, I got in a couple years ago. I do research now.”

The answer’s short and plain, with barely anything to keep a conversation going. Tom seems taken aback, and his face droops into a dopey mess as he blinks at Pidge, trying to figure her out, wondering how such a youthful person is doing research for the _Garrison –_ and how the hell his idiot brother Lance knows someone this accomplished.

Pidge technically isn’t lying. She did get in a couple years ago. Granted two or three of those years were taken up trying to stop a universal threat, and the last one was nothing but the Garrison being a raging pain in the ass, forcing them to jump through flaming hoops of bureaucracy and paperwork. She also still needs to razzle-dazzle a panel and a separate group of her peers before her research goes official and she can get funding.

Still, that dumb look on Tom’s face is so worth it.

More than a minute has passed since they all stopped talking, and it’s only now that Tom’s acknowledging Hunk’s existence. Maybe the boy looks like a better target, since he’s all muscle and sinew and fat, but Tom only sees the fat and Hunk’s fidgeting, Hunk’s thumbs rubbing on fingernails as he keeps his shoulders low for such a tall person.

“You?” he asks, already ready to probe for any weaknesses.

“Oh! Um, I’m just an engineer, haha! Space motors and all that stuff, y’know?” Hunk answers, his voice tilting and rising with that lilt he gets in his tone whenever he’s nervous.

It’s good enough though, and Tom can’t find any fault with that, snuffing himself out with some murmured, pre-set responses.

The burning, fuzzy feeling in Lance’s head and stomach is beginning to subside, the static settling down to a low buzz that’s uncomfortable, but far more bearable. He can do this, Lance thinks, waiting it out for Shiro in this goddamn minefield.

“I’ll… go tell Connor that you’re not gonna be here tonight.”

“He’s here?”

“No. Still at work.”

“Oh, okay. Um, tell him that the twins are at their friend Mimi’s place. They’re having a sleepover.”

“And you’re telling me? Not Carmen? In fact, why’d they ask you for permission in the first place? You’re not their parent.”

“Uh, I thought they might be lonely. Just a sleepover won’t hurt-!”

“Have you ever even met this friend of theirs?” Tom says, cutting Lance off now that he’s finally found something to sink his fangs into. “Also, how are they lonely? You sleep in the same room as them, and you’re always taking care of them.”

“Yeah, but they need to hang out with like, actual _friends_ , you know? I’m just their uncle.”

“Still doesn’t excuse you bypassing Carmen.”

“Layoff, will you?” Hunk says, frowning at Tom. The concern is still there, but now there’s a little steel mixed in. All those thin scars on Lance’s legs, those blank eyes and empty words from their time in the Garrison, bandages on Lance’s face and arms and legs and hands, the way Lance sometimes tightly clung to Hunk in the middle of the night, not caring that Hunk was suffocating him under the covers – it’s all because of people like this jerk right in front of him right now.

“Lance hasn’t done anything wrong, alright? Whoever picked them up seems really responsible, since they came right on time, and their mom isn’t here, so as their uncle, why can’t Lance give them permission?”

Pidge jumps in as soon as she can.

“Also, they’re kids! You’re seriously telling me that two active kids hardly being able to hang out with other children their age with only their busy uncle for company _won’t_ get lonely? That’s so dumb! Lance made the right call!”

Lance’s eyes widen, and Tom takes a step back, despite them all being a yard away from him.

“L-Listen!” He splutters, “I didn’t say that he’d done anything wrong, okay?!”

He’s ready to bluster and argue some more, that aggressive and easily angered creature that lives in his head done with hiding, but Pidge’s phone dings, loud and echoing.

“Shiro’shere!”

The three of them book it out of the house, Lance nearly tripping over Pidge as she leans forward to scramble out.

Keith sits shotgun, glaring at Shiro, who only gives him a single, wry look that tells Keith he better keep his end of the bet if he doesn’t want to regret it.

“G-get in losers,” Keith mumbles, “we’re going-”

The three don’t even listen, flinging open the door and piling in, a whole squishy mishmash of limbs and body parts, with a single duffle bag neatly perched on top. Lance manages to hook his toes through the door handle and slams it shut, kneeing Pidge in the leg in the process.

“Go go go!” Hunk wails, muffled by Lance’s stomach.

“What?” Shiro says, bewildered, but Pidge claws her way up, just in time to see Tom opening the door.  Keith looks up and sees the man, sees the man’s eyes, all flat and dark.

His blood boils and races and freezes but he knows eyes like those, knows they are no good.

“Just fucking drive, Shiro!” Pidge snaps.

“Fucking go, Shiro,” Keith growls simultaneously.

Still stunned, Shiro doesn’t press the gas to the floor, but he gets enough going that they zoom away at a good speed, tires screeching.

“God! That was fucking awkward as _fuck_!” Pidge screeches, hugging herself. Her teeth are gritted and bared, glasses flashing in the sunlight.

“N-no kidding,” Hunk says. He seems to be deflating by the moment, and while Shiro can only throw quick glances at the rearview mirror, Keith actually turns around to face them. He frowns at how lifeless Hunk is, who’s opting to scroll through his phone with the excuse of looking up recipes, which they all know is bullshit.

Shiro listens to Pidge and Hunk talk and complain but not once does he hear Lance. He peeks up, and Lance looks equally spent, smiling but sitting quiet, looking as happy as can be to let Pidge and Hunk smother him on both sides.

“Lance, who the hell was that?” Keith asks, running a thumb along his collarbone; a tic that none of them have ever seen before. The man’s eyebrows are scrunched, and he doesn’t press Lance for an answer. He just waits patiently.

“Hm? My older brother Tom. He’s a bit awkward, so sorry about that, guys.”

“Awkward?! He fucking tore into you for letting Sammie and Maxie go on a sleepover!” Pidge yells, getting straight into Lance’s face, her hands clamping down on his hip and thigh to steady herself.

“Yeah! Also, he _sucks_ at small talk. I’m not joking you guys!” Hunk says, making sure to emphasize the point to Shiro and Keith. “Who asks one person about what they do, then just goes dead for a whole minute and twenty-three seconds?! I counted!”

Keith grinds his teeth, and that’s definitely one that Shiro hasn’t seen in years, his foot slipping on the gas a little, engine roaring.

“Fucker’s got a bad vibe, that’s for sure,” Keith snarls. “Feels like a ticking time bomb.”

Lance laughs, gently pushing Pidge back to her seat, before she twists around in her seatbelt to lean her back against him.

“When did you become the expert on ‘bad vibes’?” he jokes, but Keith completely disregards his tone.

“Your creepy-ass brother feels like the same guy that broke my collarbone when I was still in the system.”

Keith doesn’t seem to notice that he’s silenced the entire car in less than a second. Lance’s eyes widen, and he leans forward.

“Shit, Keith. Do you wanna talk about it? I mean, not right now, duh, but…”

“I knew,” Shiro interjects, smoothly pulling the car around a turn. “We both agreed that Keith would talk about it when he was ready. It’s just something he figured you all should know, since he trusts you all.”

A soft breath seeps out from Shiro’s lips, and they roll to a halt at a red light.

“Are you actually ready though, Keith?” he asks, his voice low and soft. This isn’t how he imagined this happening, that’s for sure, suddenly switching gears from a fun outing to… this.

“I wanna talk about it while we’re helping Hunk out,” Keith blurts, surprisingly childish and vulnerable for his age. “It’ll be more fun. I mean-! It’s nothing crazy, so I just want us all to talk normally.”

Keith brushes his hand against the pocket of his jacket, where they all know his knife is.

“Anyways, of course I’m gonna bring this up when there’s a fucking prick in Lance’s fucking _house_. You better not leave those kids with him alone, ever. I swear, he’s gonna snap soon, I just don’t know when.”

Lance exhales all the air in his lungs, then sucks in a deep, full, breath. It’s a little late for a warning like that, especially when he’s pretty sure the Connor-bomb’s already gone off, but he appreciates it all the same.

“Gotcha. Thanks for the heads up.”

 

They all suspected it, watching Shiro fumble with picking the best vegetables or meats so badly that Hunk relegated him to snack duty, but now it’s all too clear that the man just _cannot cook_ _for the love of god_. After Shiro cuts “bite-sized” pieces that anywhere from fist-sized to dime-sized, Hunk has had enough.

“Just beat the whipped cream!” he cries, shoving a large mixing bowl and a whisk into Shiro’s hands.

“Beat, as in…”

“…Stir it. Really hard. For a long time. I’ll check on you periodically.”

“…What would we do without you, Hunk?”

Hunk can’t answer that question as he dives back into the fray, where Lance is peeling and chopping and prepping veggies and Pidge is keeping track of everything simmering and baking with laser-focus precision.

Now that Keith’s taken over meat duty, he starts to talk. He’s vague about details but he gets everything out, about having to live without parents and learning to fend for himself real fast in the foster system. Next thing he knows Hunk is crying and Keith is in shambles trying to help Hunk calm down, something that he’s not that good at, and they all help Keith out. The man smiles as the others help him comfort Hunk, and for the first time in a long time, there’s pure, unfiltered contentment flowing in his chest, soft and warm.

After dinner, Lance flops back over his chair, humming with pleasure.

“That was amazing! Also, I’m spent.”

Pidge grumbles her agreement from the side.

“We’re crashing after running on stress hormones for so long.”

Shiro glances at Hunk and Keith. Hunk’s nodding off already, and Keith’s eyes are drooping, his posture lacking all its usual tension.

Running, shouting, wild laughter, personal storytime – it’s a wonder that they haven’t collapsed already. Shiro can feel it himself, an urge in the back of his mind that makes him want to find a warm spot of ground to just sleep on, all curled up, dried sweat still lingering on his clothes.

“We’re retiring early then, I guess,” he announces. “Let’s clean up then get all washed up ourselves.”

They all say their goodnights, and Lance trails off after Shiro. Pidge is struggling to keep her eyes open, but she and Hunk look at each other, and it’s all she can manage to point a finger at Keith’s retreating back.

Hunk nods, and they walk off. They can’t talk about their suspicions right now, and they have to take Lance’s feelings into account too. Maybe they should let Keith in on their secret-that-might-just-be-paranoid-rambling, but it’s something that weighs on the mind.

 

Lance wipes the steam off the mirror to get a better look at himself.

There’s a damn bruise on his stomach.

All that work, all those days just giving into Connor just wasted from an accidental name-drop.

He sighs and gets dressed. He’s exhausted, his frayed nerves and high-strung body finally calming down to beg for sleep.

Shiro’s got the couch all set up when Lance gets out of the bathroom, rubbing at his eyes. He’s ready to collapse into it, when Shiro gestures at the bed.

“Sleep on the bed tonight. You guys were all really tired. I’ll be fine on the couch.”

Lance chalks up his next decision to a couple of factors:

  1. He’s pretty freaking tired
  2. The stress of today has fried what little smarts he had to begin with
  3. Shiro’s fucking hot. Sue him.



Lance groans and latches onto Shiro’s artificial arm. Shiro’s eyes widen, and his eyes dart around, voice empty as he tries to figure out what to say.

“Stop being a fuckin gentleman and just share the goddamn bed, Shiro.”

“Lance, are you sure? Last time I ended up grabbing you. I’m fine on the couch, really!”

Lance grumbles incoherently, steering them both towards the bed.  The boy must know some witchcraft gained from years of taking care of little kids, because just a few gentle motions later Shiro is in bed, Lance grabbing a shoe or something to fling at the light switch with an annoyed huff.

The rubber sole smacks the switch with pinpoint accuracy, plunging the room into darkness, and Lance grumbles some more as he adjusts himself under the covers, back pressing against Shiro.

“Used to do this all the time with the kiddies and Hunk. Relax,” he says, before knocking out.

Shiro twists around in a second, but Lance’s breathing is slow and steady, and there’s no way he can wake up the boy.

But Hunk? He’s shared a bed with Hunk before? Platonically or romantically? Is it part of the cuddling thing that they talked about?

Shiro can feel his blood rushing, and he takes a deep breath.

He’s a grown man for god’s sake. He pushes down the beginnings of a nonsensical jealousy over his crush’s best friend.

Shiro looks at Lance’s sleeping form, weighing some decisions in his head.

Lance really likes human contact, and he appreciates it being platonic. It’s a stupid, needy thing, but Matt says that’s he should be a little more selfish. He’ll do a test run right now then. A small indulgence that’s actually monstrously huge in this moment.

“Lance,” he whispers, hoping that maybe, just maybe Lance is actually awake. “Hunk and Pidge told me about the whole ‘cuddling quota’ thing, remember? Do you want me to hold you right now? I totally get it if you don’t want me to, though.”

There’s a pause, and Shiro’s ready to just try to sleep himself, when he hears a rustle.

“That’d actually be awesome, yeah.”

Slowly, carefully, Shiro slides his arms around Lance, hoping he doesn’t fumble something as simple as this. It’s been way too long, but even someone like him can manage a hug, right? He holds Lance close, and it’s as if the boy goes slumps in his arms, tension that Shiro didn’t even notice finally draining out. It reminds Shiro of how kittens go limp when they’re mothers carry them by the scruff of their neck.

“Thanks.”

“It’s fine.”

The conversation is cut short, and Shiro can feel a similar relief slipping into his bones as Lance refuses to accept such an abrupt end, his voice picking up again.

“Keith really trusts you, huh?”

“I was kind of a mentor to him, and from there we became close as well. He tried to lose me at first, but I was a bit persistent about it, since I could tell that he wasn’t that bad, haha. Matt started calling me a stalker though,” he mutters to himself, his voice trailing.

Lance lightly laughs back, and Shiro without thinking tightens his grasp, as if the boy could shake out of his arms and slip right out.

“You’re an actual _saint_ , Shiro. We all remember him back then and it was _bad_ ,” Lance says, groaning into Shiro’s arm. His artificial one, to the man’s surprise.

“You love him a lot, don’t you?”

Shiro’s brain goes dead for a second, as he processes what Lance is saying, but before he can even try to clear the misunderstanding, Lance beats him to the punch.

“Crap, not like that! I mean like family, like family!”

He scoots around in Shiro’s arms until he can see Shiro’s face, scanning the man’s expression for an any cues. To his relief, Shiro doesn’t seem annoyed or angry.

“Platonic love, sure,” Shiro mulls, “but there’s also a lot of trust between us two as well.”

Lance’s head lolls, pressing into the pillow.

“My bad, I said too much. Sorry for being annoying.”

“Hm. Never.”

At that Lance needs to raise his eyebrows at Shiro, squinting deep into the man’s eyes until Shiro coughs and looks away, caught in the lie.

“Alright, sometimes,” he admits, “but I kind of like it too.”

“How?”

Shiro swears he might have heard a tremble in the boy’s voice, Lance’s single-syllable climbing up to an oddly high tone in one motion. He blames it all on his imagination.

“Well, I knew that as long as you were talking, we were all probably going to be okay. The moment you stopped joking or couldn’t think of anything to say, that’s when we were gonna die.”

“Jesus Shiro, talk about dark! Not the best bedtime convo, no?!”

Shiro looks back down, mouth open and ready to apologize, but he gets one glimpse of Lance and the whole plan falls apart. Lance is flabbergasted, sure, but there’s also a glimmer and glow in his eyes, which are wet and large. A deep, garnet tone has crawled up the boy’s face, and now Shiro’s very glad that he’s decided to be selfish.

 

He’s in a dream right now. He _has_ to be dreaming right now.

Shiro asked to hold him, and right now Lance can feel those arms around him, a protective circle keeping all the worries and the stressful thoughts at bay. That alone is enough to blow Lance’s mind, but it’s when Shiro admits that he likes Lance’s incessant blabbering that he’s not sure anymore what to do with that terrible swelling feeling in his chest.

So he cries, blubbering and staining Shiro’s shirt with tears while snot runs out his nose. The rolling emotions inside him that buzz in his head and make his spine tingle are streaming out through his tear ducts and out his sinuses and he knows he must look like a mess, but he can’t stop. He cries and cries out all his worries and terrors and dreams onto Shiro, never saying a single word about what they might be.

Shiro reacts in a second, pulling Lance in close, holding him tightly between his arms, whispering small platitudes while running brunet hair under his fingers, kneading at the scalp just like that time two years ago when Lance slept on his lap. He doesn’t know what to do so he doesn’t waste any time trying to piece together clues or figure anything out.

Shiro just does what he knows will work right now in this emergency.

Lance’s sobs eventually subside, and he curls into Shiro, the both of them now truly exhausted.

“Oops. Sorry about that,” he says, his voice hoarse. This closeness between them two right now; Lance has no idea how Shiro is just okay with it all. The man really is amazing, cuddling and comforting someone like Lance just on the spur of the moment. Shiro isn’t even complaining about his wet shirt or about why he suddenly needs to take care of Lance like this – he just does it, the efficient person that he is.

“No, no, it’s fine, Lance,” Shiro says back, running a warm hand against Lance’s arm. “You don’t need to apologize.”

“Lance,” he breathes again, making the boy shiver. “Why do you think you need to apologize?”

“Uh, dude. I literally just got tears and snot all over you.”

“You also just cried your eyes out in my arms.”

“I, uh… Yeah. That’s true, huh?”

“Are you alright?”

If it’s Shiro, then maybe he can talk a little.

“Shiro, how do you feel about promises?”

Just like that, one of the myths Shiro always held in his head is gone. No, Lance _would_ cry in front of him, and the boy _would_ depend on him if he had to.

“They’re important things that you shouldn’t take lightly.”

“Right. Do you think it’s ever okay to break them?”

“Sometimes.”

At that, Lance jerks up, looking at Shiro with red-rimmed eyes, urging Shiro to keep going with his stare alone.

“Sometimes, there are promises that you take, but realize that you can’t keep. Maybe it turns out the thing is impossible to do, or maybe keeping that promise will hurt you. When that happens, you need to apologize to the person, and tell them that you’re sorry you had to break the promise. Just make sure you do all you can first, and the moment there’s a chance you could get really hurt, get out immediately.”

Shiro thinks about Kei, about how the boy so tearfully broke up with him, saying that they couldn’t be together any longer. He doesn’t know if Kei really tried his hardest, or if he’d actually hit his limit. Shiro just used this reasoning to stop being so bitter, and to try to see Kei’s side better. Maybe his logic is corrupted because of that, but it’s all he can tell Lance right now.

“Even if that person was really, really, reeeaaaaally important?”

“… We’re only human Lance. Do you think you’ve done everything that you can?”

“I… I don’t know.”

“Are you going to get hurt?”

“Not sure,” Lance lies. “I mean, maybe I’m just overreacting about this all. Everyone’s got their own problems right now, you included. Hell, look at Keith – he just spilled his guts to us today. You think he’s gonna be alright in the morning?”

Shiro sighs and reaches over to check his phone, placing it back down with a soft _clack_.

“Lance. You just cried for thirty minutes. I think the least we can do is spend the same time talking about why.”

“You’re busy working on your own problems though, right? You shouldn’t have to spend time trying to fix mine,” Lance says softly.

Shiro glares down at Lance, and for the first time in a long while, he feels a heavy buzz of irritation at the boy. Without a second thought he flicks a finger into Lance’s forehead.

“Dumbass.”

“Wha-what?!”

“We’re all a team, so if you think we’re all going to face everything alone, you’re a complete idiot. Even Keith did a better job of that today compared to you,” Shiro teases, maybe a little more venomously than usual.

Lance’s eyes are usually black in the dark. Right now though, they’re so wide that even the faint moonlight is enough to make them a shade of blue.

“Say that again?”

“You’re a complete idiot?”

“No, before!” Lance snaps, digging his fists into Shiro’s shirt.

Shiro merely smiles and cups Lance’s cheek in his hand, his body moving before his head even knows what’s happening. The alarm bells are ringing in his skull, panicking at this intimate gesture for some stupid reason even though he’s already cuddling Lance and the boy’s cried into his chest.

“We’re a team. So even if one member has a problem, we tackle it all together.”

“…That’s way too much effort for someone like me.”

“I think we’d all disagree.”

Lance squirms and shakes his head, grumbling. He wants to say more, but wisely holds his tongue.

 

* * *

 

 

“You’re right though. Let’s sleep. Goodnight, Lance.”

“’Night, Shiro.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I felt like delving a little more into backstory this time. You hardly ever see people try to create a background for Shiro, so I went for it! I wanted to humanize him a little more, to create some more vulnerability and depth that goes beyond just his traumas from the coliseum fights. I see him as being that high-strung, super over-achieving guy in school that you don't know whether to admire or be jealous of, the downside being lots of micromanaging. Kei being the more effortless genius helped to curb Shiro's bad habits. I bet they met through sports and bonded over study sessions.
> 
> The funny thing is that in my headcanon, Shiro's more neurotic tendencies actually did mellow out after high school...
> 
> p.s. I should probs put my tumblr here: opticalcrown.tumblr.com  
> Send a message or anything if you guys want haha


	7. Guilty Party

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Everyone messed up, yet at the same time no one did anything wrong.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heeeey, I managed to post today! I hope you all enjoy this chapter too! I'm honestly just stunned by how much everyone loves this fic -- reading everyone's comments always makes me so happy!

“So, are we gonna tell Keith or not?” Hunk asks. Pidge’s hair is sticking up in too many directions, and instinctively Hunk reaches out and begins to brush down the cowlicks with his fingertips.

“Thanks,” she breathes. She groans softly and Matt’s glasses slide down her nose, where she pushes them back up with a fingertip.

“How about…,” her words stumble. “Can we wait until tomorrow?” Her tone is so thin and so soft, contrasting sharply with all that she is as a person.

Hunk nods solemnly. Pidge looks just as tense and uncomfortable about this as him, and her well-being matters too.

“I know we should be telling this as soon as possible, but I don’t wanna be messy about it, and most of all – let’s just have fun tonight.”

Her gaze is sullen for what’s supposed to be a great beach visit, complete with a confession at the end, but Hunk feels as tired and worried as her right now.

“There’s nothing wrong with that, right?”

“No,” Hunk says.

“No, not at all,” he emphasizes again after a pause, maybe more for his own sake than Pidge’s,

 

The Garrison has really upped its tech in the years they’ve been gone. There was _nothing_ like this back at the Cali base. Cheering, Lance kicks off a slanted wall and uses the chance to hit a target in the high corner of the training area. Some enemy shoots at him, but he falls behind a white outcropping just in time. The harness on his chest doesn’t beep, so he’s safe. A nonstop cacophony of ringing bells ping as shots hit his cover, so he glances around. At the first bit of silence Lance runs for the next block, noting the hologram crouching near a wall.

He considers his options, glancing all around him, trying to figure out what’s the best way to tackle this puzzle. Running will only lead to a stalemate that he’ll lose, but he needs to draw out the AI somehow. Can his reactions beat the processing speed of an AI? If they’re set to human reflexes, then maybe Lance can defeat the thing. He just has to be smart about his next cover. That waist high block a few paces away is a bit sparse for his liking, but if he fails his shot, it’ll do.

 _Beeeeeeeeeeeeeep_.

The red light on his chest flashes, and he spins around in shock. The hologram fades, including the imaginary but _very_ sharp knife in the enemy’s hands. Lance groans and folds his arms, glaring as the noise from his harness stops. The LED over his chest stays red.

“Thirteen minutes; twenty-five seconds,” a woman’s robotic voice calls out over the intercom.

“Seriously?” he mutters. He’s gotten his best records in shootouts, but the moment he changes the hunting settings to include close-quarter combatants, his time plummets. He and Keith both have the same high-score for terrain-training so far: twenty-minutes, on the long range-only and close combat-only settings respectively.

Maybe Allura and Coran would like to take a good look at these amazing AI’s.

“I’m _so_ gonna beat the tie first,” he mutters, shifting his rifle to a sniper gun then to a handgun in annoyance.

His Bayard flashes and drops back into its original form as he ambles over to the exit of the terrain-room. A big benefit of free-training is that they can all literally hog whatever they want, but the issue is sometimes they’ll need to set things on auto. He wonders what it’d be like to have a team practice here with all the others. Pidge would be their resident ninja, setting traps and stealth-killing them, which granted, already sounds _awesome_. He and Hunk could lay down cover fire while Shiro and Keith took care of the stragglers. They’d set an unbeatable record like that.

At the very least, he and Keith can probably set a new record for combo-enemies.

Shiro is also a close-quarters fighter though, so doing something like that with Shiro wouldn’t be too hard either.

The only thing he’d have to worry about would be his raging crush and being way too distracted by Shiro’s muscles and the fifteen-outta-ten-holy-fuck-would-bang cheekbones sharply defining his face.

Lance rubs at his face, trying to massage out the dopey smile.

… Nevermind, he’ll ask if Keith wants to try to tag-team this.

Grumbling, he unsnaps the harness from his chest, shrugging off the vest and hanging it up on a hook. He takes off similarly wired gloves and straps off his legs, arms, and torso. The last thing to go is a headband that he pulls off and tosses in a drawer of similar looking ones. They're so soft and elastic that it’s hard to believe that they contain countless sensors woven within.

Lance just needs to go through this session’s training logs, trying to see what patterns there are in his defeats, then go work on those weaknesses with someone.

If it’s hand-to-hand combat… Shiro would be the best bet.

Keith’s best with knives, and he can throw a mean punch, but lately they’ve been helping each other out more with specific weaponry rather than plain ol’ fist o’ cuffs.

“Hand to hand, hand to hand,” he whispers, crossing his fingers, eyes shut tight as he walks into the control room.

Today has honestly been the best so far. He woke up this morning and _Shiro_ had been cuddling him the _whole night_. On top of that, he spent all that time trying to make Lance feel better. Lance feels terrible about taking advantage of Shiro’s sympathy like that, and for being unable to hold on, but at the same time it’s kind of amazing how much the man cares about them all. It’s nothing short of amazing, what Shiro will do just to comfort them a little, even cuddling someone like Lance who was a big, gross and blubbering mess for what felt like a whole hour, though Shiro says it was only thirty-minutes-

“McClain.”

 _Fuck_.

He opens his eyes, fingers clenching his Bayard against his will.

“Sir.”

He makes a loose salute at Iverson then starts looking through the logs. His face falls as he sees the most common cause of death: bladed weapons.

He’ll have to practice more with Keith on how to avoid getting shanked today, it seems. Maybe throw in a few more disarming techniques.

“You’ve been looking better lately. Less accidents.”

The loaded words make Lance’s fingers pause over the screen. His thighs sting with cuts, and there’s a strange urge in him to spill everything. Shiro was so kind yesterday, so that  must be what’s making him feel especially fluffy and overly open today. Or maybe he’s about to hit a limit and lose it for real.

“… Not really,” he mumbles, and he swears he can _feel_ Iverson’s quiet surprise behind him – imagines the old man’s shoulders stiffening, while not allowing a single thing to show on his face. In that aspect, they’re maybe barely similar.

“I was climbing with the twins and one of them tripped. I caught them, but I kinda hurt my stomach on the rocks.”

“You went to get it checked?”

“It’s nothing big.”

The way this conversation is going is reminiscent of chatting with Coran, only if Coran was way moodier and a bit of an asshole. Lance doesn’t like to admit it, but there’s still resentment there, at the cutting words that never really helped Lance become a better pilot.

Hell, none of the instructors at the Garrison seemed to have been good at the whole “instruction” thing.

Iverson glances at the screen plastered over the viewing window, looking for something to use to keep the conversation going.

“The highest record we have for those on base is ten minutes.”

“I’m pretty sure anyone who ends up in a war for two or three years can get scores like that.”

“You mean anyone who can _survive_ a war for two or three years.”

The word is so new and sudden that Lance needs to take a pause, uselessly sliding invisible patterns over the screen with the tip of his fingernail.

 _Survive_.

It’s an interesting way to think of them all like that.

Soldiers, saviors, children, _Paladins_ – but never “survivors”.

…There’s a resiliency to the word, but a weakness as well.

To call them survivors is to admit that they were victims to the Galra just as much as everyone else, and that’s unacceptable when they’re supposed to be the Defenders of the Universe; the literal stuff of legends.

“You said you injected poison into yourself, willingly?”

Lance is snapped out of his thoughts, and he touches the scar on his neck, a pale splotch on his tanned skin with darkened tendrils stretching out from it. He’s lucky that it’s small and doesn’t draw much attention, but it’s still visible if you know what to look for.

Iverson is so lucky that Lance is in a sharing mood today, and feeling needy enough to talk about something like this to an old tormentor of all people.

“One person, in exchange to keep everyone safe. Figured I was the best bet, since there would still be enough people to form Voltron while managing to keep all the important people.”

His tone turns oddly logical. In his head he slips back into that detached mood that helped him out so much when he was younger, and sometimes in space too.

“So how are you here right now? Were you rescued and cured?”

“Mn? Nah. I was dizzy, and I said something to Lotor. I guess it was funny enough for him to give me the antidote.”

“You don’t remember?”

* * *

 

_“Hey…” He mumbled weakly, slumped forward against the purple barrier. He felt sleepy, but his head was also spinning, like as if he’d eaten too little and stood up too fast. The only difference this time was that his head wasn’t clearing up. It just kept on spinning._

_“Accept your fate, Paladin. You are doo-!”_

_Lance shook his head, cutting off Lotor._

_“Will it… Hurt?” he asked, focusing very hard to make those words come out right._

_Lotor narrowed his eyes, then slowly, deliberately, he shook his head, left to right. The slowed movement was enough for Lance to register, even in this disabled state._

_He was dizzy, and little scared, but the fact that it wouldn’t hurt – that was nice._

_Real nice._

_Bracing against the barrier, he smiled warmly. As he closed his eyes off to the world and Lotor’s stunned, almost terrified expression, he said two more words._

_“Thank you.”_

_His legs stopped working, and Lance slid to ground, barely registering Lotor saying something in that regal voice of his, the tone cracked and blurred._

* * *

 “Nope. Can’t remember a thing. He had this whole weird thing planned where I had to fight the others, pretending to be one of his generals or something, but it all worked out in the end.”

Lance brightens up as he scrolls further down the results. There are actually kills by hand-to-hand! If they outnumber the knife kills…

“Shiro it is,” he whispers to himself, smiling.

“If I were your superior after that incident, I would’ve taken you right off the active team.”

Of-fucking- _course_ Iverson has to get in the last word. This is officially the last time he looks for any sort of help or acknowledgement for the man. What the hell was he even thinking in the fi-

“A martyr is only useful when you’ve got troops to spare – not four kids and a newly appointed commander.”

The tablet Lance is holding cracks as it drops onto the counter, and he spins around, an ugly scowl plastered over his face.

“We did have troops to spare! Keith was with Red, and Allura could pilot Blue! There was no other option!” he snaps. “Plus, I told you! I figured it all out! Keith’s the best pilot, second only to Shiro, Shiro is the commander, so duh, Hunk and Pidge are the resident geniuses who are priceless, and Allura is the fucking _princess_ and the only one that can make wormholes! That leaves _moi_!” he yells, ending by jabbing his thumb into his own chest.

He blinks; straightens his back.

“Sorry sir. Didn’t mean to snap.”

His eyes drift to side as he calms down, then back to Iverson, who for some reason is waiting, and letting him speak. When Lance talks again, his eyes are clear, but his voice is oddly stilted. His emotions are ping-ponging right now, and he vaguely wonders how this conversation would look like to an outsider, Iverson remaining calm as Lance vacillates between flat calm and extreme aggression in-between sentences.

He definitely doesn’t sound stable or okay, that’s for sure. Is that Iverson’s goal?

Lance swallows, judgement faltering as he keeps talking, opting to cover his expression with his hands.

“What are you even doing in Cuba instead of the Cali base?”

“A temporary reassignment. Voltron is here, so I’m too observe it temporarily here.”

Lance sighs through the gaps of his fingers, eyes slightly narrowed in frustration.

“We were in a cell. There was a pod that could only fit five attached to it. Pidge was working on it, but she didn’t have her tools and the encryption on that thing was insane.”

Guilt flickers over his face as he thinks about Pidge, bawling her eyes out, telling him “sorry”, not stopping even as he kept telling her it wasn’t her fault. She didn’t need to feel like that for him. Not when he was the one who didn’t trust her enough.

“We were offered the poison, and it was either we all die, or just one. One out of six, leaving 5 left with proven compatibility with specific Lions? No brainer.”

“They let you?” Iverson asks, and it’s a strange thing. Lance is used to the Garrison trying to interrogate him. Not ask him so civilly.

“No way. We had a minute left to pick, and Pidge was panicking. I distracted them and then injected the poison.”

Iverson’s eyes narrow, and Lance leans back into the counter, the edge of it biting into his back. Iverson is staring at him, sizing him up in a new light, and it makes Lance feel uneasy.

“They should’ve noticed. Why didn’t they notice?” Iverson asks.

Lance connects the dots and scowls.

“Don’t you dare try to blame any of that on my friends! Besides, it’s long past! I’m alive!”

He’s irritated, and Iverson is playing him like a kid, so he decides to end this like a kid as well. He stops killing time and brings up the macro kill stats for this session. The number one cause of death was by knife, so he’s going to see Keith.

“I need to work on some other stuff. See you, sir.”

It’s horribly unprofessional, but then again that entire conversation just now was messy and unprofessional as hell too. He leaves with a huff, indulging in a small tantrum as he sidesteps Iverson and leaves.

His shoes stop, a step ringing on the floors as Lance twists around. He looks back at Iverson, expression at pause, preparing for whatever is about to happen.

“Why do you suddenly care?”

There’s a new softness in the man’s eyes, to Lance’s shock.

“My son came back, and it turns out I’m a grandfather too now.”

Lance’s entire face brightens, and he makes a big smile, showing all of his teeth, making it Iverson’s turn to be stunned now.

“Congratulations! Boy or girl?!”

“Twins actually. Identical girls.”

“Mn. Take care of them!”

 

Keith gasps, and Lance cackles as he twists Keith's arm. Keith drops the fake knife before Lance throws him to the ground.

“Seriously?! That’s not fair!”

“You were the one surprised!” Lance teases, when Keith twists Lance’s supporting arm and gets Lance into a submission hold instead.

“Grandkids though? Returning son? You wouldn’t think Iverson’s life was some cheesy soap opera.”

“Man, I can’t count how many _telenovelas_ I saw with a plot twist like that, pffft!” Lance wheezes, and Keith wonders if he should tighten his arms a little more. A light goes off in his head, and he laughs and loosens his hold to lean over at Lance.

“Hah, isn’t that you? Your family must be super happy.”

“Yeah, haha!”

Keith lets go of Lance and lets the boy flop to the ground, gasping.

“Jeez, lemme breath next time, okay?”

“Sure, sure. Also!” Keith says, frowning, “Also, I’m the only person who hasn’t met Sam and Max so far! The others keep telling me about how cool they are. They’re apparently _way_ different from you. You know, a whole step above and that kinda stuff?”

Lance scoffs in indignation and crosses his arms.

“Fine. You’re never gonna meet them then.”

“Why you-!”

Keith lunges in and Lance barely has time counter, leaving them both stuck in a stalemate. Lance has his back pressed to the ground and the two of them are laughing, squirming as they try to figure out how what to do next.

Lance whips out his free leg to kick at Keith, but Keith easily pins down the attack.

“That’s a wasteful action! Why was the arc so wide?”

“I need the extra momentum for Abs McAbs here!”

“Don’t you need really strong legs for aerial acrobatics?”

“Like I said, Abs McAbs here!”

The door slides open, and Shiro walks in to see Keith pinning down Lance, the two of them lightly bickering.

“Guys, you do realize that we’re meeting up in ten minutes?”

That shuts up the two immediately, and they untangle themselves in a rush.

“I figured you guys might forget, so hurry up and get cleaned up!” Shiro calls as they rush out of the training room.

They all congregate at the exit, hastily dressed in swim shorts and tees, everyone already waiting for them. Even Matt is there, all ready to go.

“Alright! Beach beach beach!” Lance cheers, and he rushes out, leaving the others scrambling behind him.

“Lance, wait up!” Hunk yells, and Lance spins around, running in place as the others close the gap.

“Man, it feels like its been forever since I went swimming in the ocean,” he drawls, the look in his eyes dreamy as he ambles down the sidewalk.

“Don’t drown,” Pidge sighs, shaking Lance out of his daydream. “Besides, look what I brought.”

She opens her bag to let Lance peek inside, and he laughs.

“Forreal?! You know that there’s no one else in Voltron that can beat me.”

“Well, duh! But c’mon, you have to admit Matt trying to out-do you would be _hilarious_.”

“You evil genius,” Lance smirks.

The two giggle, and Matt jogs ahead to spray Katie with sunscreen, making her shriek and hop about.

“What’re you guys talking about?”

“Nothing!”  
“Nothing!”

Shiro trails behind, Keith by his side, and he smiles with a grimace, like as if someone’s jabbing him in the ribs.

“He’s too young for me,” Shiro mumbles, groaning.

“Blame your own dick.”

“They’re rubbing off on you, Keith,” Shiro retorts with a glare. Keith merely flashes a snide smirk and catches up with the rest.

 

Shiro sticks to a wetsuit, for obvious reasons. The others freely strip down to their swimsuits, and he can’t see many scars on Lance’s skin, which is surprising considering what they’ve all been through. He tries remembering the times Lance has been badly hurt, but they’ve always had the healing pods and Altean medicine for injuries, and skin is hardly marked after those treatments.

Lance’s battered, unconscious body in his arms thrusts itself into the forefront of his memories, and Shiro shudders, forcing himself to stop losing himself in damp blood, darkened hallways, and the tension of being hunted.

“Shiro, c’mon, c’mon! The beach!”

His eyes snap open, and Lance is dragging him to the shore, hands grasped around his prosthetic no less.

Doesn’t Lance hate that thing?

“That reminds me,” Lance mulls over with wide eyes, “but can you even swim with this?” he jokes, waving around Shiro’s arm.

The shock must still be on his face, since Lance is looking at him so strangely. That furrowed brow snaps him out of his surprise.

“I better!” he says, gently prying his arm away from Lance, grinning. Lance doesn’t look convinced, and he runs into the waves, Shiro right behind him.

“Guys! Who wants to bet that Shiro can’t swim with his arm?!” he yells.

Keith looks aghast by the tactless bet, but he sees Shiro’s incredulous smile and decides to let himself give into some of the fun.

“He can definitely do it! I mean, he’s moved around in zero-g with that, hasn’t he?” Keith says confidently, crossing his arms.

Pidge wades over, clicking her tongue.

“Keith, are you serious? Right now, Shiro’s just a lead weight of pure muscle that’s gonna sink like a rock,” she argues.

“Galra tech isn’t weighted like normal human tech though?” Matt interjects.

“But that doesn’t mean that can swim!”

“Gonna side with Pidge on this one, sorry Matt,” Hunk says sheepishly. “Shiro’s arm is gonna unbalance him.

By now, Shiro’s tolerance for the good-natured fun has frayed a little.

“Have a little more faith in me, will you guys?” he answers with a lean stretch that emphasizes all the lines of his body. Lance forces himself not to stare, splashing deeper into the cool water to shock himself.

“See? Built like a brick-shithouse. You’re going doooown, Shiro!” Pidge cheers.

“Shiro’ll make up for in muscle strength I bet,” Matt adds.

“We’ll see about that!”

Shiro points his arms, and faces forward into the water. Sure, it’s been years since he swam, and he’s been neglecting the pool at the base, and his arm _does_ feel a little heavy, but that doesn’t mean he can’t do it-

“Gotchas!” Pidge and Matt yell, shoving Lance into the waves. Lance gasps and sits up, bangs plastered to his face. Right as he pushes his hair out of the way, Keith and Hunk both pour handfuls of water over him.

“Traitors!” Lance yells, but Hunk and Keith are swimming towards Pidge, conveniently unable to hear him. He looks so miffed that Shiro bursts out in laughter, clutching at his stomach. The noise makes Lance look up in awe, and he quickly peeks back, grateful that the others are still swimming away. He’s feeling a little selfish right now.

“Well then, shall we catch the traitors?” Shiro jokes, reaching down towards Lance, who’s very glad that he’s in this cold ocean. Shiro’s hair is slick and wet, and the bright sun is shining down upon him, highlighting his cheekbones and the bridge of his nose. His scar looks like a stripe of pure silver. 

 _Lance McCLain, you are so, soooo fucked_.

 

Shiro pulls up the dazed Lance, and water pools in Lance’s swim trunks, dragging them up as he lifts Lance. On the insides of Lance’s thighs are thin, pale marks – miniature lines that match the one on Shiro’s face. His eyes widen.

Why are those there?

An injury?

No, too uniform.

…Self-harm?

 “Shiro, Lance! Hurry up!” Keith calls, all while Pidge waves.

“Theres a turtle!” Hunk yells with cupped hands.

“Seriously?!”

“Loggerhead!” Matt says, trying to make the shape of the shell with his hands.

Lance lets go of Shiro and dives in, splashing the man with water. Shiro stops letting his arm hover in the air and dives in himself.

… He can swim, albeit with some extra effort.

 

“Alriiight!” Pidge cheers, the small speakers she’s brought along blaring out music with a surprisingly large amount of sound. “Lance, do your thing!”

“Won’t let you down!” he says, flashing a thumbs-up and a sparkling grin.

“Lance dances?” Shiro mutters to himself, and Hunk leans in, nodding.

“Yeah! He’s pretty good!”

“Huh?”

The others start cheering, even Keith’s eyes are wide, and he’s egging Lance on, to Shiro’s shock. He quickly drags his eyes up, and it takes almost everything to not let his jaw drop. Lance knows how to put his hips and his long limbs to good use, swaying and putting in bursts of energy in time to the music, his feet dipping down deceptively gentle, only to kick up a spray of sand.

Shiro’s been oddly quiet, and Keith turns to check on the man, blinking a few times as he gets a good look at Shiro’s expression. Shiro’s lips are pulled back in a strained smile that bares his teeth, but he’s unmistakably watching Lance closely.

“Heads up!” Hunk yells.

He reaches over Pidge and suddenly presses the shuffle symbol on Pidge’s phone, and the music cuts off to another song. It doesn’t even phase Lance, and he completely changes his style on the next note.

“Woohooo! You’re killing it Lance!”

Lance laughs and manages a small bow during instrumental, before going back into another set of moves. His salt encrusted hair stiffly flies about with his movements, and by now a small crowd of people are stopping to watch.

Another man steps in to join Lance. Lance’s eyes widen, but the next moment he’s smiling and matching up with the stranger. The yells and cheering around them grow louder, and Pidge cranks up the volume too, letting Lance and the stranger dance to their heart’s content. The stranger is just as good, and Shiro feels something dark settle in the pit of his stomach. He mulls over what the feeling might be, deciding to focus on just Lance, watching how the boy’s body lines gleam in the light.

Lance eventually tires out, like any human, wiping at the sweat on his forehead.

“Who’s next?!” he yells at his friends, trying to wave any one of them up. At the last minute, he pauses. “Actually, not Keith!”

“I’m gonna go up and be terrible _just_ because you said that.”

“Hey, I’m just tryin’ to save you the embarrassment!”

The stranger taps Lance on the shoulder, and he turns around, curious.

“You’re pretty good man!”

Shiro is pretty sure that Lance’s return smile dazzles this stranger, like any other person who gets hit full-force by it. The stranger needs a moment before he talks again, and he returns the smile, a ruggedly handsome thing that charms Lance if nothing else.

“You too. Nice to meet ya’. I’m Lance.”

“Evan!”

Evan looks a little bashful, stretching his elbows, before facing Lance again.

“If you don’t mind, can I get your number?”

Lance stares back, eyes wide in what might be shock. The stare drags on until Lance breaks it himself, trying to ease the awkwardness he’s created.

“Um…”

Shiro unconsciously leans forward, trying to hear better as he wonders what Lance is going to say. Lance covers his mouth with a hand, mulling over Evan’s request while looking at the sand. His eyes look almost sleepy from this position, and a bead of sweat rolls down his neck.

Shiro notices how long Lance’s hair has grown. His bangs especially. Lance’ll need to cut it, but Shiro likes how they look, even if Lance must put bobby pins in his hair everytime he trains or studies.

“Ahh, dammit. Fine, you guys win!” Evan shouts at a group of people in the crowd who are all laughing.

“Damn, just say fucking no next time or something, right? I almost thought _they_ were gonna owe me drinks for a bit.”

Lance’s hand drops from his mouth, and he smiles disparagingly at Evan, eyes narrowed and teeth bared.

“Wow, you all are jerks, huh? What would you have actually done with my number?”

Evan shrugs and says something back, his entire body loose and casual. Shiro strains his ears, but he doesn’t get what the man is saying. Whatever it is, it makes Lance click his tongue. He walks away, but Evan grabs Lance’s arm and Shiro sees his mouth move before Lance’s entire body goes stiff, his eyes flaring up.

“Aw, crap,” Hunk mumbles, and Pidge is quickly shoving her things into her bag. Shiro looks over, just in time to see Lance twist his hand out of Evan’s grasp and roundhouse the guy with his weight behind the blow.

Lance groans and holds his head for a second, before he seems to gather himself together.

“Keith, I think I like kicks.”

“Cool. Let’s practice those.”

 

“Your face is pretty enough, so I could probably get off with your ass though.”

The word ‘pretty’ makes Lance shudder, hands on his hips and dipping below his waistband covering him like phantom limbs. Without a second thought he retaliates.

“Asshole!”

One of Evan’s friends lunges at Lance, but Shiro moves first, leaping forward to punch the man. His fist is like a rock hitting the guy in the jaw, and his head snaps to the side. That’s the final straw.

Most bystanders run, but the rest of friend group descends, including some of the crowd that begin throwing punches for no good reason.

“Oh jesus!” Pidge snaps, quickly stretching before jumping to her feet. She elbows someone in the stomach, then drops it down hard on the person’s skull. Hunk is already in the fray, trying to desperately talk people down, or drag the injured out of the thick of the fighting and onto the sand outside of the fighting pit.

“Touch my sis and you all are dead!” Matt shouts, throwing his own punches.

Keith sighs as he blocks a blow, off-handedly jabbing a fist into someone’s gut.

“Guys! Guys, we gotta go!” Hunk wails, pointing to a group of people in uniforms running over, and the six of them screech and start dashing away. Matt grabs Pidge’s hand and pulls her away, while Hunk removes Keith from a fight to drag him out. Shiro frantically searches for Lance, but before he knows it Lance is the one tugging his arm instead, yanking them both away from the whole situation.

“Holy shit!” Lance screams.

They sprint down the sidewalk and don’t look back, bodies crowding and bumping, flailing arms smacking each other’s’ faces as they flee from the authorities. Shiro doesn’t know when it starts, but even though his lungs are on fire, and everyone else must be dying too, Lance starts to laugh. Loudly, impertinently – it’s full of life.

Just like that, Shiro is transported back in time to two years ago, the setting sun making their bodies glow as Lance laughs, happy to just be alive. This time is even better though, because now they’re all back home, happy and safe.

 

“Oh my gosh do you think they’ll know it was us? Oh my gosh oh my gosh I don’t wanna end up in jail-!”

“We’re fine, Hunk. There’s no way the cops would put in all that effort over a beach squabble, and during tourist season no less,” Keith says, stretching his arms. The beach is but a pinprick in the distance now, and Lance is quietly leading them through a public park. Large, leafy plants blanket them, and now the sunlight has faded even more. Streetlights flicker on, scattering wavering shadows over the leaves.

“This _should_ be a shortcut,” Lance mumbles, taking a left next to some hibiscus flowers.

“Keith, how do you know that?” Shiro asks, narrowing his eyes.

“Uh…”

“Ohhhh, someone’s in trouble~!” Pidge sing-songs, Matt holding back his laughter as Shiro glares at Keith.

Shiro is Keith’s weakness, as always, and he falters, his voice dragging.

“Just admit that you beat up a ton of people after you dropped out,” Lance says. He glances up through the leaves, marveling at how the sky is a gorgeous mix of warm colors all swirled together.

“It was only a couple okay?!”

“Hot-head.”

“Not anymore!”

The others glance at Keith as he raises his voice, and to his credit, the man sighs and his shoulders slump.

“Sometimes shit happens, okay?”

His face is red, and Hunk grins in relief.

“Cool, so we’re not going to jail.”

“Voila!” Lance shouts, making them all jump.

They no longer in the park, and they can see the base in the distance now, white metal shining and bright in the setting sun.

“Well guys, let’s go,” Shiro says, waving them all over as he walks ahead.

They chat aimlessly as they head to back to the base, before they all scatter to the showers. Lance can taste the salt running off his hair and down his face, slipping through the corners of his mouth. When was the last time they swam in a salty sea like that? No suits, no gear, no fear of enemies – just carefree playing in the waters. He’s wasting water, lagging in a hot shower like this, and the others are already outside when he comes out. Shiro seems tense, but the others are muttering to him, so things must be alright.

“Wassup?”

“We were wondering about having a junk food feast today!” Pidge says with a grin, her glasses flaring under the fluorescent lighting.

“That actually sounds so nice right now.”

Indulging in nothing but trash with everyone, laughing about stupid shit while shoving greasy food into his mouth – it’s the ultimate stress relief. God knows he needs something like that right now. It’ll be the best ending to a beach day like today.

“O-oh yeah, Lance,” Shiro begins, “you should know the best places, right?”

“Yeah, but we’re also talking about some outdated info by now. There’s gotta be something new by-! Wha?”

Lance’s phone is buzzing, and he quickly picks it up the moment he sees the screen.

“Sam, what’s wrong?”

“Sorry, Uncle… Max got sick from some food.”

“Oh gosh! Are you alright?!”

“Yeah, I didn’t feel like eating the squash.”

“Listen, you can’t be a picky eater forever, but for today I’ll let it slide. Are you guys home?”

“Yeah, but Max is stuck in the bathroom right now. What should I do?”

“Don’t worry, I’m coming back right now!”

“Okay…”

“Why so glum?”

“Weren’t you going to have fun with your friends?”

“I did have fun! The beach was great! I’ll see you two in a bit, ‘kay?”

“Mmn. Bye.”

“Bye.”

He ends the call, and he winces as he looks up at the others.

“Sorry, sorry! Max got food poisoning, so I gotta go! Another time?”

“Uh, yeah,” Hunk says, looking at Shiro with wide eyes.

“Bye guys! See you all Monday!”

Lance starts to run off, fishing out the keys to his bike locks as he hurries away.

“Shiro! Hurry up!” Matt snaps, yanking on the man’s sleeve. Shiro’s snapped out of his daze, and he stutters at Lance’s fading figure.

“L-Lance! Ah, um- Love you!” Shiro hollers from his diaphragm. The yell is loud and booming, and it's as if Shiro's own feelings are reverberating through this warehouse-space. As his words echo and bounce, the world stops for a second, no one daring to even breathe as they wait for the answer.

Lance doesn't even pause.

“Mmn! Love you too!” he casually calls back, disappearing through the door.

Keith’s jaw drops, and Hunk stumbles forward.

“Um… What just actually happened?” he says.

“That was literally the worst time ever for Lance’s family instincts to kick in,” Pidge says, her face awestruck despite the absolute failure of Shiro’s promised confession.

Shiro chokes and covers his face.

 

It feels like hours before he gets the twins cleaned up and resting in bed. Max has a little fever, but Sam insists on sharing the bed with her, no matter what.

“She’s not feeling too good right now. I don’t want her to be lonely!”

“Fine, fine. Give her the outside edge though, so that she can leave to throw up if she needs to, okay?”

“Yes! Thanks, Uncle!”

He tucks them both in before rubbing his eyes and shutting the bedroom door behind him. Floorboards creak while he shifts his weight from one foot to another. Max will need lots of water and light foods tomorrow, so he needs to check the fridge to see what he can do.

After this, he needs to clean up too. The sky is completely dark, and his body is telling him to sleep.

“Soon, soon,” Lance mutters to himself, ambling down the stairs.

“Told ya’.”

The exhaustion drains from his body in seconds, and he looks up at Tom, eyes wide.

“What?”

“You were acting all high and mighty, acting like you were the parent instead of Carmen, and now what? Max is sick. This is all your fault.”

Irritation and queasy fear flares up inside Lance, and he protects his back against a wall, frowning.

“How could I have known? Even their friend’s family got sick, alright? It’s not… It’s not my fault.”

Despite that, the doubt creeps into his head. He wanted to be selfish and enjoy time with his friends, when he really should’ve been with the twins. Why couldn’t he have just made up an excuse? Maybe it really is his fault, for being such a terrible family member.

The doubt must be showing on his face, since Tom lunges in, jabbing a finger into Lance’s chest, each contact sending a cold shock through the boy.

“This. Is. All. Your. Fault. You overstepped your bounds.”

“I’m ready. Come here.”

Connor appears from his room, snapping a hand around Lance’s wrist.

“Wa-wait!” Lance shouts. “It’s not my fault! It’s not my fault!”

“Don’t lie!” Tom snaps, and emboldened, he slaps Lance across the face.

Lance shuts up, and his body loosens as he gives in.

“Tom, help me out.”

“Yessir!”

The two drag Lance into that warmly lit room, filled with all sorts of interesting things that Lance loved to explore and examine when he was younger. Connor on one day would demonstrate how the tines of a dismantled music box sang when plucked, and on another point out various countries on a globe.

Lie, truth, delusion, false memories, a changed man, an insane man – Lance doesn’t know anymore.

“Can’t you do anything right?” Connor growls, forcing Lance to curl up on the ground like a turtle, the rounded curve of his spine pushing up towards the ceiling.

Lance doesn’t bother talking anymore. Fear and frustration and so many other things simultaneously empty and fill to and from his head, to the point that he can’t tell if he’s feeling everything or nothing at all.

“Tom, help me out.”

“Gotcha.”

The man sounds so eager that Lance is still able to pick out some disgust and pity for Tom from the sludge that is his brain right now. Tom lifts up the back of Lance’s shirt, and Lance shivers as warm air touches the skin.

There’s a quiet jingle and every muscle in Lance’s body tenses up, the fibers condensing down into iron rods. He wants to run and to fight, but his body won’t move. It’s been trained well enough by now to know that resisting is useless. The best he can do is to prepare himself for the pain, and so that’s what he does, taking deep breaths and fighting against his stiff chest.

Connor’s belt swings down, and with a burst of wind and a poetic _swish_ , it snaps against Lance’s skin. The pain is a seared line down his back, but he clenches his teeth. He’s been through so much worse that by now, a strip of leather is nothing compared to the fear one feels being hurtled out into the endless void of space, fighting for your life.

 _But piloting a Lion!_ his mind whispers. _It’s magical! Nothing like this._

That strength and indifference Lance _knows_ he used to have – where did it go? When were the days were he just didn’t feel anything? Has he really gotten so weak?

Lance’s teeth are creaking and aching in his jaw. He can’t remember which hit it is, the blows suddenly increasing in defiance of Lance’s silence. Suddenly, the belt digs into his flesh and slides down, and he screams.

He screams, and now he can’t stop. Everytime the leather strap comes down an inhuman noise comes from him. His is acutely aware of the pain invading his mind, of how he’s gotten just so weak, and of how it all hurts so much.

The blows are drawing blood now, and the screams mingle with the sharp crack of the belt, a noisy and disruptive mess that no one in the family bothers to investigate. Lance knows no one will come, that in this house he has no Hero.

So he screams and shakes and holds on, frayed sanity not quite gone yet.

“Connor, Tom, stop that.”

Blurred voices make meaningless sounds in his ears, until a hand shakes his shoulder, and Lance looks up to see his dad’s face.

Lance stares for a few seconds, eyes wide and unblinking. It’s finally happened.

“Am I in a dream?”

“No. You’re not.”

“Did I go crazy?”

“No.”

“You’re lying.”

“I’m not.”

“What if my mind’s just making me hallucinate and see this?”

“I’m here. I’m real, _mijo_.”

“…I’ve gone fucking crazy.”

“No, you haven’t. If you go crazy, who’ll take care of the children?”

“… I’m a kid too,” Lance blabbers without thinking, before he covers his mouth in a hurry. His awareness is returning bit by bit, and he sighs.

“No, you’re right. I gotta… I gotta…”

He seethes as his back burns, and his father holds out a first aid kit for him.

“Oh, thanks dad. I’ll patch myself up.”

Something familiar yet also wholly unfamiliar at the same time to Lance flashes through his father’s eyes, and he shakes his head.

“I can do it, Lance.”

“Um, okay.”

Lance feels like his mind is being split in two as his father kindly and clumsily applies bandages. A dream come true, right at the heels of a nightmare. Something that couldn’t possibly happen is happening right now, and Lance physically feels better, but his mind is nearing a limit he never knew he had, as this unexpected kindness threatens to snap it in half.

“Why?”

The question slips from his lips before he can catch it. His brain can’t catch anything right now.

“Because I love you.”

Love. Now that’s something that Lance can try to use to wrap his head around the whole situation.

“Just a little more.”

Love. Lance loves the twins, and if there’s even a modicum of that love in his father for Lance, then he can understand this current event.

“Done,” his father says, pulling down Lance’s dark shirt.

Love. Like what Shiro yelled as he left.

Wait.

Love.

“Shiro doesn’t say ‘love you’ whenever we leave.”

“Who’s Shiro?”

“Love… you.”

Lance gasps and stumbles to his feet, rushing to his room. His father is forgotten as the inside of his head sparkles with manic energy, and he quickly puts in his iolite studs, looking in the mirror as they somehow make him feel better before he grabs his phone. He jumps to the group chat first, and his fingers waver before they jump to Coran. He contemplates every other number in his contacts before finally resting on Shiro’s contact screen.

His fingers start flying over the screen, but stop just as quickly.

Something like this… Even if his head is playing tricks on him, and it turns out to be an accidental confession on his part instead, something like this needs to be done in person. Warmth, energy, manic emotions, and all sorts of messy things bloom in his head, dulling pain as his mind reverts to that of a lovesick high schooler reading a sappy love letter for the first time.

Lance shoves his phone into his pocket, and he grabs his lanyard with his pass and his keys before rushing outside. His shoes slap off the wood and sink into rumbling gravel, and even though he now notices that someone’s taken a sledgehammer to his bike, he doesn’t even pause before spinning on a heel to sprint for the base. The pass bounces on his chest as he pumps his legs and arms, shock and adrenaline fueling every step as he wonders again if he’s died in a lovely dream.

 

“It’ll be alright. You can try again later,” Matt reassures.

“I… I know. I’m just a little surprised,” Shiro mutters.

The others have already left after hours of yelling and screaming in frustration over the whole incident, and Shiro finally smiles and nods at Matt.

“I’m gonna be fine. Go to sleep. I’ll be fine in the morning.”

“If you say so. Night, Shiro.”

“Night.”

The door slides shut, and Shiro collapses onto his bed, throwing his arms over his eyes. He knows that it’s not the end of the world, but it sure as hell feels like that right now. He threw in his feelings, and they vanished in an instant due to a misunderstanding. The worst part is that now it’s throwing up all sorts of unreasonable doubts in Shiro’s head now.

What if that means that Lance sees him as only family, and a romantic relationship is completely out of question? What if Lance is playing off the confession, and Shiro’s been rejected? What if-

Loud banging on his door snaps him out of his thoughts, and he stares as the banging only increases in intensity.

“Shiro! Shiro! It’s Lance!”

“Ah?! J-just wait a sec!”

Whis is Lance here right now?

He runs for the door, and the moment it slides open Lance practically barrels into him.

“I like you! I like you too! Sorry about this afternoon I was kinda out of it but yeah I think you’re really hot and yes holy shit I’m pretty sure I like you too!” Lance blabbers all out in one breath, collapsing in Shiro’s grasp while soaked through with sweat.

Shiro doesn’t say anything, and Lance begins to push away, a stone dropping in his stomach.

“Oh crap. Sorry. I must’ve misheard something this afternoon. I’ll just leave now.”

Lance looks up, and he suddenly decides that maybe he’ll stay a bit longer.

Shiro’s eyes are sparkling, and he suddenly snaps out of his shock.

“No! No don’t go! I really like you Lance. I love you!”

 _Love_. That word again, illuminating Lance’s world once more.

Reality finally clears through his head, and he stares back in wonder for a few seconds, before the two detach in embarrassment.

“Um… Can I take a shower? I’m kinda gross right now.”

“Did you run here? What about your bike?”

“Someone wrecked it.”

Shiro sees his chance and he doesn’t care if he sounds desperate. Goddammit he’s living in a goddamn fairytale right now and he’ll milk this feeling for all it’s worth.

“Then… I’m guessing you’ll need to stay here tonight.”

Lance’s eyes bug out. He gapes at Shiro, before smiling, flirty and vibrant.

“I guess you’re right, huh?” he answers, a soft quality to his tone.

“I’ll get some clothes for you. Go wash up. I already showered and brushed my teeth and everything, so just do everything you need to. We should go to sleep, since it’s been such a tiring day.”

“Hah, yeah!”

The shower turns on and Shiro finds a white tee and some shorts for Lance. As he holds them though, he drops to the ground, his face burning. It’s as if everything is hitting right now. He and Lance both like each other. It’s a miracle, and he can’t believe it.

He’s the luckiest guy in the whole world.

The big, dopey grin on his face isn’t going anywhere no matter how hard he fights it, and he secretly skips for two paces to the bathroom.

“Lance, I’m putting some clothes on the toilet!”

“O-oh! Thanks!”

Lance waits until Shiro’s gone, then slumps to the tiles. He’s so unbelievably happy, but his back also hurts like a bitch right now. It stings and burns, and he’s smiling through all of the pain because _holy shit_ , Shiro’s his boyfriend now, no? The shock has faded and now he's burning, yellow and faint red swirling down the drain.

He’s literally dating an amazing guy with the chiseled bod of a Greek god, and he is so, _so_ out of Lance’s league.

Oh god, why does Shiro like him?

He washes the soap off his body with a wince, and before brushing his teeth he raids Shiro’s first aid kit to patch his back. It’s a clumsy job, but it’s better than nothing. As he puts antiseptic and plasters over his wounds, he wonders if he’s made a terrible mistake. Shiro needs someone better than him right now. He’s literally just abandoned the twins back home, so he’s obviously a terrible person. Shiro needs someone who can support him right now, not Lance, who has scrambled brains, countless rejections, and incest on his relationship resume right now.

“He looked so happy though. I think I made him happy,” Lance mutters to himself.

That’s right.

Even if Lance doesn’t think so, Shiro obviously sees something that Lance doesn’t, enough to make him look ten years younger just by realizing that Lance returned his feelings. He can deny his own emotions, but he won’t deny Shiro’s.

“Shiro, I’m done.”

The man smiles and puts down his phone, face red.

The sight makes Lance dizzy, and he realizes that he’s completely exhausted. He might pass out at any moment. He can’t think anymore, and he crawls into the bed before Shiro can say anything.

“Hug,” he mutters, holding out his hands.

Shiro’s expression softens from embarrassment into fondness, and he nods.

“Okay, give me a moment.”

The room goes dark, and Shiro settles by Lance’s side, wrapping his arms around Lance’s waist.

“Do you want to take off the earrings?” he whispers.

Lance shakes his head, touching one of them for a moment.

“They’re my good luck charm, since they’re from you.”

Shiro blushes furiously and buries his face into Lance’s nape, his grip tightening.

“Goodnight, Lance.”

“Mn, love ya’ Shiro.”

Lance is asleep in the blink of an eye, and Shiro once again is in shock, that he and Lance are sharing the bed right now as a couple. Smiling, he closes his eyes and falls asleep as well.

 

In the morning, Shiro wakes up with a damp shirt. The wetness is cold on his chest, and he blinks the sleep from his eyes, wincing at the sunlight coming in through the window. It’s the weekend, but this is still probably the latest that he’s woken up in a long time.

There wasn’t a single nightmare.

They happen irregularly, but he’s glad that last night was one of the lucky nights. Not a single thing to mar this precious memory. Shiro smiles and adjusts his grip around Lance, who is sleeping peacefully in his arms. He takes care not to wake the angel in his arms. It takes a second for him to realize just how wet his shirt is, and Shiro panics. Was Lance crying again?

He looks down, and suddenly reality is much more horrifying. His shirt is muddied with yellow and rust red. On Lance’s back, soaking through the white shirt that Shiro lent are more streaks of scarlet, the colors still pushing out through the dried browns and yellows.

Shiro places a hand over Lance’s forehead, and he sighs as he feels how cool it is. There’s no fever from infection at least, but he’ll need to look directly at the injuries.

Lance wasn’t hurt yesterday at the beach, and these wounds are fresh.

He went home, then came back with a bleeding back.

He went home, then became injured.

Two and two put together is...

Shiro’s veins turn to ice, and chills run down his back as he watches Lance sleep.

The boy is dead to the world, blood seeping from his body.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not gonna lie, I was seriously in the beginning considering letting Iverson get killed to let this fic have a murder-mystery side plot.  
> …It got scrapped for obvious reasons.
> 
> As for what the chapter title and summary mean, why don't you all try to guess? if someone get's it right, then I'll respond to that comment and tell, haha!  
> If not, I'll just explain in the next chapter notes.
> 
> EDIT: Sorry for the latest chapter being so behind! Life's been a bit hectic lately, but I've finally started working on Chapter 8!!! My writing stagnated for a bit, but I'm back in action now. Look forward to it!


	8. Pieces

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's sometimes hard for Lance to breathe.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh god, it's finally out. Not the last chapter, but close to it! Oh my god, this thing was THIRTY PAGES on my word doc!!!
> 
> Honestly, the only excuse I have is that school got ridiculously hectic all of a sudden, then my recovery/chill time stretched on, and then things got busy again and-! Basically this week was a lighter week for me, and I finally managed to finish and edit this chapter! I was planning on doing it earlier today, but some stuff popped up, and I didn't want to edit this where friends could see the screen, so I had to delay editing and posting.
> 
> Hope you guys enjoy this for hump day!

Keith blinks.

To his own surprise, he feels calm.

Maybe _calm_ isn’t the right word. Underneath his skin he can feel the rage boiling, threatening to spill over like a caustic sludge. His heart is burning and the Galra blood itches to do something violent and reckless.

His head is a whole other matter. While his hands shake and muscles tense into steel bars, his mind is flat. It’s struggling to process what his body has already figured out in a panic, and so his skull fills itself with air and a huge lump of _nothingness_ that refuses to go away. Intuition and instinct are running icy fingers down his spine, but Keith forces himself not to shudder.

Tears streak down Pidge’s stoic face, and Keith’s coherent enough to offer her his sleeve.

“No, it’s fine,” she mutters, rubbing away the sadness onto the shoulder of her shirt. “I’m just scared ‘cuz he’s still home right now.”

“Whenever Shiro loses it, he makes bad decisions,” Hunk interjects softly, “so basically we need someone to help keep him calm.”

“So, y-you picked _me_?” Keith manages to choke out with a scoff. “You think I’m not gonna kill those bastards myself?”

Hunk and Pidge both give him pointed looks, and he breathes out softly, running his hands down his face.

“I’ll keep him in check. Bring Matt too.”

“I told Matt this morning.”

Keith sighs again, stretching his arms and back with a groan as he gets off his bed, helping up the other two as he does so.

“Oh man, this is gonna suck,” Hunk says.

Keith tries to act like the adult that he’s supposed to be, shrugging with a weak smile. Pidge chuckles and jabs him in the ribs with her elbow.

“Stop it. Leave that shit to Shiro and Matt.”

“Fine, I got it, I got it,” he replies, waiting for them to walk out of his room before he locks the door. Pidge and Hunk are both honestly amazing. They’re keeping their cool even as their insides being eaten inside out by anxiety.

Sometimes he can’t help but wonder how things would have turned out differently if he had that same self-control while he was back in the Garrison. Would he have been able to stay in the fighter program and someday have gone after Shiro and the stars?

Hunk and Pidge both each cling to one of his arms. Hunk’s face is cut like a stone, his brows furrowed, and lips pressed tightly together. Pidge’s scowl can’t be budged. Her eyes are hard and glittering, set deep into her face like burning emeralds.

No, he doesn’t regret getting kicked out. All those lonely, listless nights, the aimless wandering while he pinpointed alien signals – it all led him to Voltron.

To his destiny.

Voltron gave Shiro back to him, and it gave back his parents as well. Most of all though, it gave him a _family_.

To let go of it now would be like stabbing himself in the chest, crying as he watches everything break and crumble through his fingers.

“Ready?” he asks them, and when he does, he wonder if he’s asking for their sake, or his own.

Pidge nods, and Hunk throws up a thumbs-up, even if he’s not smiling.

“Okay,” Keith breathes. “Okay.”

His heart is still clenching, and his stomach twists itself into coils and knots, but the three of them set out – all for the sake of Voltron’s smile.

 

Someone knocks on the door, and the moment Lance stirs, Shiro gets up and opens it. Keith’s there, along with everyone else. Their eyes flit towards the blood on Shiro’s shirt, and Keith takes a step back.

“Shiro,” Matt begins, tentatively sending out his words to Shiro like bait on a line. The look in Shiro’s eyes makes Matt wary.

“I’m guessing that’s not your blood.”

“It’s Lance’s. He’s sleeping right now, so be quiet,” Shiro whispers, gesturing for them to come in. Shiro has his first aid kit out. Everything inside is splayed out over the bed, but it looks so paltry in comparison to all the blood. Pidge’s eyes widen as she sees the yellow and rust red smeared all over the sheets, but her only consolation is how pale the stains are. They look diluted.

“Betcha he went to bed with wet bandages,” Hunk groans.

“He did,” Shiro replies flatly, “but if he hadn’t, I wouldn’t have realized what was going on. When did you guys find out?”

They all avoid directly mentioning the word like as if it’s a curse, opting to only speak of it in vague terms, despite Lance being right in front of them. Pidge and Hunk both shuffle, and Keith nods, ready to do anything he might need to.

“Well, Hunk and I started talking about when Hunk was penpals with Lance, when he was little. That’s when we kinda put two and two together, especially after that explained why Red acted so weird that one time.”

“Lance was always hurt at home,” Hunk whispers.

“I found out this morning,” Matt says casually, walking in closer, keeping an eye on Shiro.

“Same here,” Keith mutters. They thought he could actually keep Shiro calm? Not when he’s like this.

Keith’s only seen Shiro like this once, back when they were at the Garrison. Shiro’s jaw dropped when he saw Keith’s fresh new shiner. With wide eyes, his entire body bristled when Keith told him one of the more old-fashioned instructors had conveniently not gotten the memo on corporal punishment.

_“Shiro, I’m not a bitch. T_ _his is nothing-!”_

_“I decide whether or not it’s ‘nothing’, and right now it’s definitely something,” Shiro growled, cutting off Keith. Keith stopped talking, stunned. Shiro never cut him off._

Never.

_Keith was never part of the rumor mill, but even he heard the news when news spread of how Shiro had beaten up an instructor, the guilty details suffocating the school like a pandemic. For awhile it was like that was all people talked about._

 

“Keith, can you find a new sheets and blankets? Matt, go coax some more medkits out of the medical staff – I know they have a soft spot for you. While you’re at it, grab a thermometer too. I wanna double check Lance for a fever.”

Matt nods and runs off, but Keith stands still for a moment, looking at Lance. The boy’s still sleeping soundly, body loosely laid out on the bed. His exhaustion is so extreme that even pain can’t stop him from passing out.

“I’ll grab it,” he says, going after Matt.

“What about us?” Hunk asks, gesturing to himself and Pidge.

“Pidge, get a basin and some towels.”

Shiro leans onto the bed, watching Lance sleep, not caring about the blood under his body.

“Hunk, help me wake him up.” Shiro’s eyes waver and his hands reach for Lance. His fingers tap just the very edge of a lock of hair, before they recoil. It’s not a sharp movement, but Hunk notices how Shiro’s mind pauses, and makes him let go of the Lance that he must love very much.

“You’re better at this than me, so let’s try to keep him calm, right?”

Hunk smiles and nods, kneeling by Shiro to also watch his friend sleep peacefully. Lance’s blood is thinned out and pooled around him, but there’s a smile that never leaves his lips, and with the way his eyes are crinkled, he might get crows feet before Shiro at this rate.

“It’ll be alright,” he says to Shiro, his deep voice so soft that Shiro needs to lean in to hear him. As his body shifts towards Hunk, eyes narrowed, Hunk grabs Shiro’s wrist and presses Shiro’s palm into the crest of Lance’s head, like a soft and heavy crown of sunlit-honey warmth.

The tendons and muscles of Shiro’s hand tighten up before Lance’s hair can even shift, every ligament and bone a stark branch that bulges up from underneath the skin, waves of tight skin and rolling anatomy. The wave rushes up his arm, a violent urge to splash his hand out of Hunk’s grasp, but then Lance leans into the touch and murmurs.

It’s no language that’s spoken in everyday life, but Shiro can understand it. In its quietness, in the way it climbs up and down a scale in a few utterances – it’s Lance’s happiness, spilled out in seconds. The wave calms down into a smooth, glass plane, and Shiro’s hand relaxes. With teeth clenched and Hunk’s smiles, he slowly rubs circles into Lance’s scalp with his thumb, like that time he did in the Castle back then, during their “long, long ago”.

“Lance,” Hunk laughs, “wake up!”

 

The sun is shining on his face; warming the faint headache pulsing in his skull. It coaxes him to get out of bed with some warm, gentle encouragement. Another hand helps by rubbing his shoulder. This hand is also big and warm, but Earth only has one sun, his dream decides that Earth now has two suns, for double the fun and warmth. Pidge isn’t going to be very happy about the scientific accuracy when he mentions that. The warmth makes him feel lazy and lethargic, and he groans and twists back into his blankets. Lance is halfway through a stretch when pain cuts through his back, jagged arcs that hurt with the precision of fine ruler lines.

“Stupid bruises,” he mumbles under his breath. His rubs the grit out of his eyes and crawls up, squinting at the window. He really doesn’t want to get up. This bed is so much softer than the ground back home, and it’s nice to only deal with bruises instead of an achy back too. Lance complains to himself mentally as he runs his hands over the sheets, wondering how to lean into each sun at his head and shoulder.

“Rise and shine, Lance!” Hunk yells, poking Lance in the ribs.

Lance startles with a choke, just in time to twist and fall into Shiro’s arms. The sunlight outside blinds him, and he groans into Shiro’s chest. His arms dangle by his sides, trapped under Shiro’s hug, but he shivers as his legs lie limp on the sheets. The worst is his head, which is too stuffy to even feel embarrassed about how soft and comfortable Shiro’s pecs are.

“Ugh, what time is it?”

“Early afternoon,” Shiro replies.

Lance growls and shies away from the window, trying to shake his head before stopping with a groan. His head stops its rattling spin, but the world feels blurred as well.

“I feel like crap.”

“That’s because you’ve been bleeding over the sheets the entire night.”

Lance’s entire body freezes, and he refuses to look at Shiro or Hunk.

First his entire body feels hollow, then shame infuses his entire being, burning and chewing at his insides, actual pain ripping him to shreds in the moment. His breath hitches, and he shoves back Shiro in one motion, eyes wide and darting about.

He’s nineteen going on twenty and he’s still being pushed around by his family. It’s mortifying and shameful and the just the _idea_ that his friends know make an intense disgust rear inside him. The dark and coiling thing turning into a compressed diamond that he wishes he could use to shred his face and mark his body.

Shiro stares back, and the concern Lance sees in the man makes him want to retch.

“I’m leaving.”

The words are out before he even realizes that he’s trying to get off the bed. Shiro and Hunk both lunge forward and hold him there, and no matter how much Lance struggles, he realizes that they’re stronger, and he’s just a weakened boy.

He screeches and flails and thrashes and kicks, but the two stubbornly hold onto him. The small whispers from Shiro only increase the rage he feels, upping the agitation inside Lance to new levels of frustration and aggression that he channels out into frantic attacks on his own friends.

“It’s no big deal! Let me go home!”

“No way! Your family’s just gonna hurt you, aren’t they?!” Hunk yells.

“No, they won’t!”

“Explain those injuries then! If I let you go back right now, I won’t be able to ever forgive myself!” Shiro shouts.

Lance freezes, battling the disgust and shame, forcing back the erratic trembling of his own emotions to take a deep breath. The shame is still there, wallowing deeply in the pit of his being, a dark and heavy thing, but Lance ignores it, for his friends’ sake.

He takes deep breaths and maybe it helps or maybe it doesn’t, since he can’t tell anymore what’s considered “okay”. His fingers run up to his earlobes, and the iolite chips are still there, the only thing that’s still shining and respectable on his body right now.

Lance’s body hasn’t completely broken down into a disgusting mess, full of damp and gritty grey-brown sludge – there’s still those earrings. Those are still there, and he uses them as his lifeline, crawling his way back to coherence on spider threads. The iolite is from Shiro, and Shiro is part of Voltron, and Voltron has all his best friends, including Hunk, his best-est friend ever who is here right now. He went to the Garrison with Hunk and Pidge, and Pidge is Matt’s brother, and Matt also knew Shiro and Keith when the two were still at the Garrison. They’re all at the Garrison right now, and ironically enough it’s safe.

He’s somewhere safe right now.

“Okay,” he mutters to himself. “Okay, okay, okay, I’m good,” he says, more to himself than anyone else really.

“You with us?” Hunk asks.

Lance nods and scoffs, rubbing at his face with irritation.

“I’m gonna take a shower, ‘kay? It’ll make patching up everything easier if I clean up first, right?”

“Yeah.”

Shiro still watches him warily, and to Lance’s surprise, he doesn’t want any comfort from Shiro right now. The look in Shiro’s eyes makes Lance want to put up walls; to act strong and cause as little trouble as possible for everyone, no matter how disgusting he feels right now. It’s a hard glare, the pupils wet with a sharp blade of light splashed across from the window.

Those aren’t the eyes of _Shiro_ , Lance realizes. They’re the eyes of the Black Paladin – someone who can’t be trusted with the things Lance feels from time to time, rotting up to the surface in a catastrophic hazing of his thoughts and mind. The Shiro he trusts is the one who smiles and listens carefully, fumbling awkwardly through social interactions like a human being, not the one with glossy doll-eyes that look as if they’ve been compacted down into a hollow glow that mimics normalcy.

Lance showers after brushing his teeth, but the pain that slashes his back forces him to muffle a scream. It’s so sudden that he pitches over, gasping. The way this pain aches is unfamiliar and frightening. Pain is supposed to fade into a dull ache in his mind. It’s how he survived all those years as a child. In fact, back then, he’s not sure if he could even feel pain back then.

The hurting has returned with a vengeance, and he struggles to finish cleaning up. As he puts on his underwear and pants, he frantically starts going through his mind to try to find a reason. He can’t survive back home if he can’t push pain into the background. He can’t protect himself or anyone else if he can’t power through injuries.

He drapes the towel over his bare back, suddenly captivated by his silhouette in the fogged over mirror. It’s as if everything is now so clear.

Lance… doesn’t need to worry about surviving back home anymore, does he?

The others won’t let him go home, and even if they did let him, it’d probably involve everyone and Keith with a knife escorting him every single inch of that place.

He leaves the bathroom, and everyone is back, and they’ve even replaced the sheets and blankets to boot. Lance instinctively crosses his arms to cover his bare chest, and everyone is wise enough to not talk about the bruising on his stomach. Everyone noticed it yesterday while they were swimming, but now they know how he got it.

“Hurry up and sit down so that we can bandage everything,” Keith says, hitting the bed.

“Fine, fine. Calm the heck down,” Lance replies, facing the wall as he sits cross-legged on the bed. It’s easier this way, so that he doesn’t have to look at everyone. He swears he caught tear-streaks on Pidge’s face, so that probably explains why Matt is looking ready to kill. Hunk is just worried, bless his pure soul, and Shiro… he doesn’t like Shiro’s “Black Paladin” glare. Lance’s face is still muddy and red from the embarrassment of everyone seeing him so vulnerable like this, but his mood is broken the moment Hunk starts cleaning out Lance’s wounds with a warm towel and a basin of hot water.

“Ow! Holy shit, Hunk! Ease up!”

“You deserve that for going to sleep with wet bandages. What if it got infected?” his friend says.

Lance scoffs and props his head up on an arm.

“It’s just bruises. They must’ve been a little inflamed.”

The chorus of good-natured teasing he’s expecting doesn’t come. Instead, Matt leans over by his side to stick a thermometer into his ear.

“Um, yeah no. Your back is cut up right now,” the man says. He checks the thermometer after it beeps.

“Cool, slight fever too. You’re staying in bed for today.”

“Fever?” Shiro says, snapping up to attention. “Do you guys think it’s an infection?”

“No, it’s not.”

Lance cuts Shiro off. Infection means going to a doctor and having to explain all these stupid injuries.

“I haven’t been sleeping well, plus it’s been kinda stressful lately. Probs just a cold.”

“Lance is right, at least for now,” Matt says. “He’s at about ninety-eight degrees right now. If it jumps above a hundred, then we should get him checked, but for now he’s safe.”

“That’s good.”

Shiro looks fondly at Lance, but the boy avoids his gaze. A pit drops in Shiro’s stomach. Lance yesterday must have been erratic, sprinting over more than a mile with a cut up back. In that state, Shiro should’ve noticed something wrong, but he didn’t. In fact, considering how frazzled Lance was last night, does he even remember the confession?

Shiro’s failed Lance. All this time, Lance was hurt, and even when the boy was sleeping right next to him, he noticed nothing. The guilt is clawing around his guts; his heart. It refuses to let his mind rest.

The world goes dark, and he feels Lance’s palm over his eyes, warm with fever.

“Calm down, Shiro. You’re not our leader right now, you know? And you were doing so good chilling out with us the past couple of weeks.”

Shiro clenches his teeth, then nods, holding Lance’s hand in place, willing himself to calm down. Pidge watches the whole time, catching the tender clench of Lance’s fingers as Shiro touches them, all while they wipe blood off his back. Keith sighs as he notices Shiro beginning to simmer down from whatever dangerous place he was in before, and Matt takes that as a cue that it’s safe for him to leave.

“Text me what you guys wanna eat. I feel like taking a walk right now. Anyways, keep yourself covered Lance, no matter how warm you feel.”

“You seriously want me to sweat this out?!”

“I’d rather you sweaty than cold and shivering.”

Lance huffs and nods with an annoyed sound, and the whole act manages to get a small chuckle out of Pidge, despite it all.

“You sure you don’t want me to cook anything?” Hunk offers, but Matt shakes his head.

“Nah, you should stay here.”

Matt leaves, and almost a minute later his phone is exploding with messages from Pidge telling him what to buy.

“You’re all so spoiled,” he says to himself. He pockets his phone and just laughs as he flashes his badge at the guard and leaves the base.

 

“Done. Matt’s gonna order enough food for a small army now,” Pidge declares.

“You guys _cannot_ be serious. You’re gonna spend a whole day cooped up in here with _me_?” Lance says.

“Of course, we are,” Shiro says. He groans exasperatedly, still stubbornly holding Lance’s palm to his eyes.

Hunk is definitely angry, considering he doesn’t even say anything before applying stinging antiseptic.

“Ow! Okay, okay! Hunk!”

“Good. That means it’s working.”

Hunk scoots over to let Pidge and Keith crowd in. Shiro still sits on the bed, holding Lance as if the boy is a lifeline for him. Pidge puts down her phone and stares at Lance’s wounds, confused. Lance said he thought they were just bruises. Why? Keith joins her side, pointing to some of the bruises that _are_ there, purple-green bands stretched across his back and the ridges of his spine.

“Those are from a belt,” he says. Pidge gives him a look.

“Trust me, I know,” he adds.

“Okay, then what exactly are these lacerations then? They obviously switched from a belt to something else at some point.”

Hunk twitches as he hears them talk.

“Are you two going all crime show over my back? Stop that!” Lance complains.

“I wanna know what those assholes did to you,” Hunks growls, and Lance’s voice trails off. It picks back up, quieter, the bravado fading rapidly.

“I don’t remember much,” he says. He watches the wall, focusing on one corner with all his might, as if it’ll keep him sane as he gropes about for those terrifying flashbacks. “It wasn’t too bad at first. Then all of a sudden I just remember screaming, like it suddenly hurt a lot more.”

Pidge stares as how the cuts are carved in, thicker at the beginning before tapering to a thin line. Some of the cuts begin with a claw-like pattern of three lines that fade in and out.

“Oh.”

It’s such an obvious answer. Shiro, Hunk, and Keith all stare at her. It makes sense that the smartest person in the universe would figure it out first.

“They switched to the buckle.”

There’s a beat of silence, and Hunk takes the initiative, keeping track of every tensed muscle in Lance’s back. He’s been applying stinging antiseptic for awhile now, but Lance doesn’t say a thing.

“Why’d they even hit you?”

“Just some random stuff.”

“Lance,” Shiro says gruffly.

“…’Cuz Sam and Max got sick. Could’ve been worse though.”

“It’s kinda hard for me to see how this could get worse,” Keith says, his eyes drifting over the cuts. “This is gonna scar I bet.”

“Well, I mean…” Lance catches himself at just the right second. He nearly spilled the whole thing about Damien.

His palm is suddenly refreshingly cool. Lance blinks and turns to face Shiro, who’s holding his hand, kneading cooling circles into his hand with his prosthetic. Shiro’s eyes aren’t made of hard resin anymore. They’re just tired, concerned eyes, staring at him, a hidden plea in them.

“Lance. Just.. talk about it. I don’t know if it’ll make you feel better, but I promise you I won’t let what you talk about happen again.”

A promise from Shiro. Those are definitely trustworthy.

“Then everyone needs to promise to not freak out, okay?”

The air in the sunny room grows somber, and suddenly the warm light is too bright and too warm. It’s almost suffocating them all, but they also all push on just the same.

“I promise,” Hunk immediately says.

“I promise,” Shiro says.

“Promise,” Keith says.

“Cross my heart hope to die,” Pidge says, whispering the childish thing under her breath. It’s just loud enough for them all to hear.

Lance’s tries to tell his story, and he grounds himself in Hunk’s gentle treatment of his wounds, and of Shiro holding his hand so tenderly. Something doesn’t feel right though.

He wants to see their faces, he realizes. Wants to talk to them while he’s facing them all.

“Actually, can I tell you all when you guys are done patching me up?”

“Sure,” Shiro says hoarsely, wrapping his fingers around Lance’s hand, as if it’s all he’s willing to let himself touch of the boy.

They all work together, taping gauze over the cuts and wrapping the whole thing with more bandages. From there they work on the smaller things they find, small scrapes and cuts that Lance or Shiro missed yesterday from his wild dash to the base. The more they work, the more Lance wonders if his frantic run for Shiro was his survival instincts kicking in, stemming from a realization that he might die if he stayed any longer.

They both confessed to each other yesterday, didn’t they?

It’s a strange thing to blush over, even as Lance feels his old life falling apart around him.

He groans and stretches his stiff limbs. The others wrap him in blankets and pile onto the tiny bed with him, laughing as Shiro nearly gets shoved off a mattress that’s too small for two people, let alone five. Pidge tries to fumble around Lance’s blankets, then yells in frustration.

“Screw it! Let me in!” she says, diving under the covers and next to Lance. She giggles and sticks her tongue out at Shiro.

“You should’ve been faster if you wanted to cuddle with your _boyfriend_ ,” she teases.

“Wha- how?!” Lance screeches. Keith looks equally shocked.

“I thought it didn’t work!” Keith says, spluttering and looking back and forth between Shiro and Lance.

“Well c’mon,” Hunk says, “if it didn’t work, how did Lance end up in Shiro’s bed? He must’ve realized it last night.”

Lance feels his face grow unbearably hot, and he grabs Shiro’s prosthetic to cool his cheeks.

“You two need to stop tag-teaming me like that!”

“I dunno, that look on Shiro’s face is _so_ worth it right now,” Pidge says with a snicker. Lance’s head swivels around, and sure enough, Shiro’s leaning back against the wall, body curled in and face so red it looks like he’s the one who should be bed-ridden instead.

“Just hurry up and tell us what you were gonna tell,” Shiro says, before he presses his lips together at how Lance rolls his prosthetic against his cheeks and neck.

Lance presses Shiro’s prosthetic to his cheek and holds it there, drawing up from deep wells of courage, praying it’s enough to get him through such a nerve-wracking experience. He hates, _hates_ being weak in front of everyone; hates the shame that seems to destroy him even when he _thinks_ about them knowing more than the bare minimum.

But they should know. They _need_ to know.

“Well, it could’ve been worse, since I’m not dead. Connor was super angry when the twins nearly got hurt by Damien, so I had a close call one time.”

 “We know Tom’s a creep, but who’s Connor and Damien?” Shiro asks.

“I thought there were nine people in that house,” Hunk says. “Who are they?”

Lance squirms under the questioning, picking over his words to find something that straddles rhe line between informative and vague.

“Not exactly. Um, right now, it’s just my dad, the twins, my uncle Connor, Tom, my big sis Carmen, and sometimes my other younger big sis Anna and her boyfriend Damien.”

“Where’s your mom?” Hunk asks, beating everyone to the punch.

Lance wavers, and he huddles deeper into the blanket.

“The dialysis stopped working. That’s all.”

He pushes it all off his chest in a burst of emotion, wanting to get it over as fast as he can. His words float in the air, and everyone slowly comes to a realization.

“Lance, I’m so sorry-!”

“Stop it, Pidge. It’s fine. Don’t wanna talk about it.”

His memories of that time are fuzzy, but maybe it’d be better to just have none. Her weakened and bloated body, and the gentle hold on his hand, despite her swollen fingers.  He wished it was because of her softness, and not due to illness, and how every joint ached terribly. Even adjusting her seat on her hospital bed made her wince. Her soft skin was now scaly and itchy. Even her eyes weren’t bright anymore, and he could see how they weakened and dulled with every passing second.

They dulled and dulled and glazed over, Lance still holding her hand and babbling nonsense to her as he panicked.

Keith is watching Lance and taking everything in with wide eyes, and he tightly squeezes Lance’s arm. He knows he’s no good with words, but he also knows that Lance is perceptive. Lance’ll know what he’s trying to do. The boy chuckles at the effort.

“Someday you gotta get better at this whole ‘using your words’ thing.”

Lance falters though, and he stares at that grip on his arm, trying to interpret and decipher it differently.

“Actually, I can’t say anything. I wouldn’t know what to do in this situation either.”

“Lance, anything else?” Shiro asks.

Lance leans back and takes deep breaths, gathering up his guts to rip off the band aid.

“Damien was a bit high, so he threatened the kiddies with a knife,” he blurts, and he keeps going, desperately avoiding eye contact.

“I got in between, but he started getting reall antsy, and it’s why Blue and Red were freaking out that night, Shiro, so your call probably saved me, but Connor found out and got pissed that I let Damien get so close to Sam and Max, so he lost it and tried to choke me, and then he was already angry that I’ve been gone so that’s also why he and Tom went after me yesterday, but it’s just a guess! – Anyways since I let Sam and Max get sick and hurt again they used that as an excuse, but not really? Guess I kinda deserve it when I put it that way-!” he rambles nonstop, till Shiro scoots in, nonchalantly pressing his body against Lance’s.

The man looks at Lance, fighting the conflicting feelings in his chest and head. Lance talking means that everyone is safe, but he feels like kicking himself for never realizing what the nonstop chatter meant for the boy.

An escape from fear and anxiety, and a desperate need to calm himself.

“No, stop that,” Shiro says, leaning over to cradle Lance’s face with both of his hands. The touch of cold and warm is a strange shock to Lance, and as he stares at Shiro, he realizes that there are tears running down his face.

“It’s not your fault. You shouldn’t have to play babysitter every waking hour like this. It’s a family’s job and a parent’s job to take care of children. A kid shouldn’t have to be the one in charge of other kids. On top of that, you don’t deserve to get _beaten_ over mistakes. A scolding, maybe, but do you really think you should have to die over screwing up?”

Somewhere deep in his mind, Keith knows the answer before he hears it, bubbling up and pushing itself to his consciousness before he can stop it. He thought it himself all those years in foster care, but by the time he’d met Shiro and was in Voltron, he was over it. A sickening lurch in his stomach makes him start regretting every put down and jab he ever made against Lance during their early days in space.

He prays that his instincts are wrong, but they’re rarely wrong. In fact, one could say that Voltron’s sharpened them.

“Well, not always! Maybe just hurt sometimes, but uh!” Lance scrambles to save his response, but it’s already long crashed and burned. He mutters some nonsense and curls up.

Pidge swears under her breath and wraps her arms around Lance, squeezing as hard as she dares to without making Lance’s injuries ache.

“Oh damn, oh damn. Lance, Sammie and Maxie love you so much – you can’t think like that,” she says.

Lance just smiles and rests his head on hers.

“But I still do. Even though I know dying would probably tear all of you guys apart, I still wanna die sometimes; just run away from it all and finally relax. I’m a shitty selfish person like that,” he says nonchalantly, as if he’s telling Hunk about a new game or show. He mutters to himself and presses a thumbnail to his lips.

“Hm, I guess sometimes I just get really tired of being tired. That’s the best way to put it, I think.”

Hunk picks at his brain, trying to find the right words, before he yanks in Keith and Shiro and pulls everyone into a wide hug.

“So, we’ll just have to make you less tired then, right?”

Lance’s mind falters, and he freezes for a second.

Exhaustion so deeply and profoundly sunken into his very being, melted into his bones and flesh – something like that can be helped? Constant fear that’s strung out his ability to feel anything else – people can see that and just… help him?

“Help.”

He tries out the word; tries to feel how it rolls over his tongue.

It’s a hard, chipped thing that cuts his tongue, but if it’s hard and chipped it must also be a clear, beautiful thing.

He needs help.

God, he needs it so much, or he’ll die one day.

“Help. Help me,” he whispers again, and the tears that were silently falling are now big, fat droplets coupled with loud, ugly sobbing. It’s as if he trying to purge years and years of fear and self-hate out through his bawling, and it’s gushing out in a disgusting wave of snot and tears.

Everyone’s frantically holding him and reassuring him as he cries his feelings out, slobbering over all of them in the process, and it’s the best he’s ever felt in his whole life.

 

Matt comes back with bags of food to find them all, even Shiro, crying and laughing and scrunched together on the bed. He takes one glance and starts laughing as well, tossing a tissue box at them, making Pidge screech in protest.

“Asshole!”

“Yeah, yeah, I love you too, Pidge!”

Seeing Matt makes Shiro rub his eyes and he scrambles up from the bed, blotting at tears and snot with tissues for the others as Matt takes care of Pidge. Lance snickers and peers up from under his lashes as Shiro hold a tissue to his nose.

“Blow.”

“… That’s what he said.”

A furious red color bleeds onto Shiro’s cheeks and the tips of his ears, and he pinches Lance’s nose.

“Ow! Easy on the face! It’s important!”

Shiro’s worried, but Lance still laughs and sneezes into the tissue.

There are tear droplets on Lance’s eyelashes, and as Shiro looks down at Lance, watching the blue irises peek through wet lashes, marveling over how the boy’s eyes are framed by the gleaming gold of sunlight. Shiro stares, entranced by how the light flickers and dances on Lance’s glossy and bright eyes.

“Shiro?”

The man leans down and kisses Lance on the lips.

Lance stops playing coy and his eyes snap open, red-rimmed and large with shock. Shiro is already pulling away, and Lance barely manages a short peck back in time.

“Sh-Shiro?!”

Shiro looks back at Lance, and despite his flushed face, he smiles. The expression is genuine and confident, but the way Shiro’s eyes are narrowed with laughter is also unbelievably sweet-looking to Lance right now, like sugar granules mixed with honey.

“Sorry, but you just looked… too cute,” Shiro murmurs, head tilted slightly as he keeps watching Lance with his dark stare. The expression feels wildly unfamiliar on Shiro to Lance, but there’s also an undeniable appeal to it too. Lance’s brain is steaming and overheating, trying to figure out what that _look_ means, and why it’s making his entire body feel like running a marathon.

The syrup pools on Lance’s numb lips and tongue.

Pidge is staring with her mouth agape, leaning back as far as possible, joining Hunk and Keith who are watching in horror. Matt is the only one who looks like he’s holding back laughter.

“Um, save the flirting for later? _Please_?” she pleads, blinking and rubbing her eyes as Lance and Shiro stare deep into each other’s eyes.

“Is Shiro acting _sexy_?” Hunk stage whispers to Keith.

“I don’t know – I think?” Keith whispers back. Whatever this is, it’s definitely a new side of Shiro he’s never seen before.

“Seriously, you make all the bedroom eyes you want _later_ , Shiro,” Matt says, tapping Shiro on the shoulder.

Shiro snaps out of it and the two jerk away, mortified and red, sneaking glances at each other while nodding apologetically to the others. They’ll catch each other’s’ eyes, blush, look away, glance back, blush some more, and keep continuing the cycle.

“Ohhhhh my god,” Pidge says. She waves her arm in between the two, snapping them out of it for real this time.

“Let’s eat!” Matt says, holding up his bags.

They push Shiro’s table in front of the bed then finally rearrange the bed to make room for all six of them, the drinks and fries and sandwiches and garlic knots –

Garlic knots?

“Hm? Who asked for these?” Lance asks, biting into a mound of dough.

“I did,” Hunk says, in between a chew.

“Thanks.”

“No prob.”

Shiro watches Lance smile and his own expression falters. It feels like there’s so much he doesn’t know about Lance. They both like each other, against all odds, but he still feels like he’s scratching the surface of all that Lance is, while Lance knows so much about him.

Well, none of them except for Matt know about his parental situation, but it feels like such a small detail within the whole situation currently unfolding right now. Either way, as Lance sprawls over them all, grabbing at random bites of food scattered over the table, he looks unbearably happy, and that makes Shiro’s chest swell up and grow warm, like bubbling champagne being poured in.

“Lance, why don’t you leave?” Keith asks, unable to hold it back anymore. The atmosphere goes from relaxed to strained in seconds, but everyone still listens closely, wanting to understand as well.

Lance puts down his can of guava juice, lips pressed tightly together.

“I don’t wanna leave Sam and Max alone there, plus I… I made a promise.”

Shiro stares for a minute, the words echoing so familiarly in his mind. He’s not angry at Lance, nor is he disappointed, but there’s a sense of shock that he can’t push down.

“You lied to me, Lance.”

Lance whips around at Shiro, his eyes wide and wary.

“You lied to me,” Shiro says again, more so that he can process it better himself. “You said that you wouldn’t get hurt keeping a promise.”

“Sorry, Shiro.”

“No, you don’t need to apologize – I’m not angry. Just… why is that promise so important?” he says gruffly, staring at Lance’s back.

“My mom. Told her I’d keep the family together. I should break it, but it’s also my mom, y’know?” he replies softly.

The room is silent as everyone mulls over the situation. Lance is important, but so are the things important to Lance.

“Your mom probably remembers very different people,” Matt finally says, breaking the stalemate.

The can in Lance’s hand crumples. His mouth opens and closes, but no matter how hard he tries to make the sounds come out, he can only react in shock to Matt. Enslaved to a promise, but unable to find a good enough excuse to break it without breaking his own heart. He’s been stuck at that precipice for so long, but now Matt’s finally given him a line to grab onto, twisting it around his palm until the string draws blood.

It’s a lie, but it’s a lie with just enough truth that he won’t fall apart at letting his mother down one last time. The final puzzle piece – he has it. He can use it to finish the twisted jigsaw that’s nearly killed him over the years. Who cares if they were hitting him before mom died, or if he always had his suspicions about Connor and his mom?

This lie. It’s acceptable.

“You’re right,” Lance croaks, smiling while his eyes well up with hot tears. “You’re right. They’re not the family my mom knew.”

Keith looks at the metal crushed in Lance’s palm.

“Leave them, Lance.”

“Y-yeah, I should,” he sobs, “but the twins! We g-gotta get them and Carmen out first!” he blurts out, just in time before he completely explodes into horrible, ugly bawling that won’t stop, snot and tears all mixing on his swollen face. It’s hot and his eyes hurt, but he wails and curls in, gasping and shuddering as Shiro embraces him, and the others all join in holding him on the bed.

Mortifying, shameful, embarrassing – enough to make him want to run away from his friends forever over looking so weak, but at the same time, undeniably warm.

Warmth.

He’ll focus on the warmth, and not the horror building up in the pit of the stomach, threatening to make him vomit up all the deeper, darker feelings that have been hardening and crystalizing in his center for more than a decade.

He’s finally decided to rebel.

And Lance knows there will be consequences.

 

Pidge helpfully projects the Plan onto the wall from her laptop.

  1. _Lance is never allowed to go home and stay there alone._
  2. _Lance will room at the base for now, until the room request goes through._
  3. _Voltron will push for Carmen’s request for subsidized on-base housing to go through as soon as possible._
  4. _Charges will be ma_



“Pidge, stop typing.”

The girl peers up at Lance, scowling.

“I know it’s a long shot, but still-!”

“Trials cost money. Money that my family doesn’t have.”

“You’ll have the Garrison’s support though, won’t you?!” Hunk argues.

“But my family doesn’t have enough money to defend. What if they dip into Max and Sam’s college accounts for this stuff?”

Matt gingerly raises his hand.

“Also, this stuff takes years on end. The Garrison will value Voltron over all else, even above Lance I bet. They might separate us all from Lance and just discharge him once they start shuffling Voltron around again.”

Shiro’s body stiffens, and he forces his fists to unclench. That can’t happen, no matter what.

“That’s not fair though!” Pidge snaps, and she fumes, refusing to delete the incomplete phrase. She hears the logic, and her brain runs on logic and pragmaticism, but something like this is painful, squeezing her chest and piercing it with needles.

“Pidge,” Matt says softly, kneeling down by her.

“Pidge, I just want this all to be over. I… I’m not interested in revenge. Never have been. I’m not scared anymore. That’s already a pretty big thing for me!” he laughs, leaning over Matt to ruffle her hair. She glares at him, then buries her face into Matt’s chest.

  1. _Lance is never allowed to go home and stay there alone._
  2. _Lance will room at the base for now, until the room request goes through._
  3. _Voltron will push for Carmen’s request for subsidized on-base housing to go through as soon as possible._



Matt hugs her and rubs circles on her back, laughing as he feels her scowl through his shirt.

“I agree, Pidge. This sucks.”

Lance smiles at the Plan. It’s a good course of action. Simple and effective.

“Guys, first things first. We gotta get Lance’s shit back from that house,” Keith says.

Lance swallows, then pulls out his phone. He tries to send a text, but his fingers tremble so hard he can feel the tingle in his bones. Cold and warm hands encircle his palms.

“What are you planning?” Shiro asks, his voice skimming Lance’s ear from behind.

“I’m gonna text… the bastard and tell him… that I’m moving out.”

Shiro lets go and Lance’s hands are still. The others are watching him, waiting for him to send the signal. He grits his teeth, feeling the molars creak, then calls Connor instead.

He won’t forgive himself if he breaks everything in such a half-assed way.

“Where have you been?! We’ve had to take care of the kids while you’ve been fucking gone doing jack shit! Come back, now!”

“I’m moving out, Connor.”

“What?”

“We’re coming over right now to get my stuff and get out.”

“You don’t have anywhere to go,” the man sneers.

“I’m gonna be staying on the base, and I’ll have my own room here soon too.”

“Bastard-!”

Lance hangs up, and for the first time since he can remember in a long time, he feels _invigorated_. He smiles at his friends with a reckless glint in his eye.

“C’mon guys. Let’s go.”

Shiro grabs his keys and jacket, and after checking that his wallet is in the pocket, he heads for the door. The daze is broken, and Pidge scrambles to close her laptop.

“Everyone, we meet at the lots in five minutes!” Shiro hollers, opening up the door for them all. They nod and rush out. Lance is the last to leave, but right as he passes Shiro, the man’s façade breaks, and he clasps his arms around Lance into a tight hug.

“Almost over,” he murmurs.

“I don’t think it’s ever going to be over,” Lance mutters back, “but I’d rather go through this all with you guys than alone.”

“I agree.”

It takes them only three minutes before everyone’s in the car and Shiro’s peeling out of the lot, tires screeching. With every screech, Lance can feel his bravado whittling away. Everyone is not speaking, but they are all in silent agreement.

_This is going to be a shitshow._

The car slides to a stop in front of the quaint house, spewing up clods of dirt and gravel.

“Don’t hesitate,” Shiro says, opening the door immediately, forcing the others to scramble out after him. It’s a close, illegal shove to have them all in there, and they fall out like as if Shiro’s sports car is a magic trick.

Lance’s legs are stiff, and he hits them in anger.

“I’ll open the door,” he says, and to his shock, they listen. They wait for him to drag his body to the door, and when he can’t find his keys, he slams the knocker down onto the wood three times.

The door slowly creaks open, and as it swings wide with a terrible screech, they all see Max and Sam, terrified.

“They’re waiting in the kitchen,” Sam whispers.

Max clutches his hand.

“Be careful.”

“I have my friends with me. It’ll be okay. Both of your go upstairs right now, okay? Don’t come out until I say it’s okay, understand?”

The two nod, and he smiles at them. It’s their signal to run.

The house has an oppressive, suffocating feel to it. Keith almost loses the strength to walk amidst all the hostility. Every nerve in his brain and body is telling him to run, but he fights it. It’s mere yards from the door to the kitchen, but they all walk with slow, plodding steps, wading through the air to reach a confrontation that should have never happened to begin with. A TV sounds from the living room, and Lance’s heart sinks a little further down into a suffocating tar pit.

So his dad won’t be any part of this either.

They reach the kitchen, and Lance flinches.

They are there.

Damien, Anna, Carmen, Tom, and _Connor_.

Connor has taken his place in the center of the place, as the stand-in patriarch of the family, and Lance has to fight the fear in his chest. He doesn’t step back, and he doesn’t cry.

It’s not a very strong showing, but for now, it’s enough.

“What’s this nonsense about wanting to move out?” Connor asks.

Lance swallows, but he knows that he’s surrounded by everyone. They’ll support him, and they won’t let him run either.

“How is that weird? I’m moving out.”

“Who will take care of the kids?”

“C-Carmen will.”

He swears at himself for stuttering and glances to the side. Carmen is silent, and she sits with her back slightly hunched.

“She’s busy earning money to find a place to stay.”

“We can help with that. Sis already made a request at the Garrison, so we can have them hurry it up.”

The panic in Lance is being quickly replaced by a freakish calm. He’s been so terrified for so long that suddenly he feels nothing.

“Why didn’t you do that in the first place then?!” Tom roars.

Lance’s eyes widen, and he gives himself a moment to be selfish and shudder.

“There’s a lot of extra stuff you have to do, and we didn’t know, and on top of that we had to find the right advisor-! It would’ve been unfair to everyone else!”

“Screw that! You’re supposed to take care of family first!”

Hunk lunges forward, stopping himself right before Tom. His bulk stuns Tom, and the man flinches.

“ _Why_ does Lance need to take care of you guys? _Why_ is it Lance that needs to watch Max and Sam? _Why_ him, specifically? Shouldn’t a family work together for stuff like that?” Hunk glares, and Tom withers away, shrinking lower and lower to the ground. “Lance is a kid like me and Pidge, but next I know he’s running a house all by himself! That’s not called taking care of the family. That’s called taking _advantage_ of the family!”

“Get out of his face,” Damien snarls, yanking back Hunk.

“Don’t start,” Anna sighs, patting her boyfriend on the shoulder. “Honestly Tom, I don’t get why you’re so set on the freak staying here. He’s an eyesore. Always was always will be.”

“Because Connor wants him to!”

“Oh, so now you’re a fag like him too?”

“Shut up!”

Lance’s shoulders tighten, and even as Shiro chews the inside of his cheek, drawing blood, he looks at the rest of them, telling them to stay put. Keith has a wary eye on both Damien and Tom, so he carefully extracts Hunk.

“Sorry. Lost my temper.”

“It’s okay.”

Shiro looks up at Connor.

“The biggest reason we want Lance to move out is because you’re hurting him.”

“And why can’t I hit ‘im? He’s my nephew; I’m allowed to discipline him how I want to.”

“That’s not right. Also, you’re hurting him over just accidents.”

“Accidents have consequences.”

“He’s already nineteen, and he’s fought in a war. I’m sure he already knows that.”

“That’s a load of shit. Kid can hardly talk back to someone, let alone shoot a guy. Seems like we can’t see eye to eye on anything. He’s not leaving.”

“He doesn’t need to listen to you.”

“I’m the head of the house. He will.”

Keith growls.

“Shiro, I don’t like this guy.”

“Wait.”

Connor’s voice is low and deep, and it rings through the room.

“ _You’re_ Shiro?”

“Yes? What business to you have with me?” A chill runs down Shiro’s spine. Something bad is coming.

“Some stuff here’s and there. Lance was suddenly strutting around talking about friends, and they’re just as disappointing as expected.”

Connor can’t resist throwing in a jab at the whole group, even as they stare them down. They’re _Lance’s_ friends. Anyone who’d hang around that brat can’t be anything special, and they look just as rag-tag as Connor expects. He takes another close look at Shiro. Face, demeanor, and even race – it’s all different. In terms of body type though, if you were to line them up side by side, it’d be almost indistinguishable.

The realizations makes Connor scoff at Lance, and the boy feels his body begin to lock at the joints.

“So that’s how he’s been dealing with it, huh? Y’know, sometimes that faggot says your name when I’ve got my hands on his dick.”

Shame floods Lance’s entire system, and he covers his mouth and looks straight down, refusing to meet any of the stares he can feel stopping on him. It rolls over his entire system in waves, the mortification making his face flush while simultaneously twisting his stomach. His knees bend, and he puts his entire focus into not throwing up, something’s that’s made harder by his heart speeding up and his lungs and diaphragm working ten times harder all of sudden.

He wants to run away, to curl up into the corner of the closet and cover himself in pillows and blankets, but he doesn’t. Everyone’s here for him right now, and he can’t leave them.

“Lance, do you want to go away for a bit?” Hunk asks.

Lance’s eyes widen, and he dares to peek up, temptation tugging at his will. Hunk’s entire body is tense, and his voice is just as strained. Hunk’s holding onto Keith’s shoulder, squeezing with all his strength as the older man glares at Connor with such intense bloodlust that shivers run down Lance’s spine the moment he catches even a glimpse.

“Hunk’s right. You shouldn’t be near this bastard right now.”

Shiro’s voice is almost cheery, delicately laced with just the right amount of venom. No matter what, Lance can’t bear to look at Shiro right now. He feels completely disgusting right now. He knows Shiro wouldn’t ever look at him with the same disgust that Lance feels right now, but his stomach is still flipping, and every part of his brain now has this terror to deal with, that there’s the tiniest possibility that the man he loves will be looking at him with pity.

At the same time, Lance’s curiosity gets the best of him. He tilts his head barely, so that he can only catch a sliver of Shiro from the very corners of his peripherals.

Ice and warmth all mix in Lance’s chest at the same time. Shiro’s face is calm, the faintest smile on his face, but his eyes are burning, and his entire body is stone still, anger rippling off him in murderous waves.

No pity. No disgust.

Just silent, serene, and righteous fury.

All for Lance’s sake.

“Someone tell me why I shouldn’t deck this guy _right now_?” Keith asks, but Hunk is holding him back, just barely.

“’Cuz I’m already doing that.”

With a _snap_!, Pidge ties up her hair and launches herself over the table with a guttural yell, punching Connor in the face.

Everyone’s jaws drop, but Lance is the one to react first.

“Whoa, Pidge, stop!”

Pidge is whaling on Connor with as much strength as she can muster, and Lance runs forward and grabs her under the arms, grunting as he lifts her up.

“Urgh! Let me at him! Lance! Lance!”

She glares up, ready to keep yelling, but her voice falters. Lance is smiling, the brightest she’s ever seen him grin. He tries to keep his voice serious, but the laughter is traveling into his vocal cords.

“Sorry, but-!”

Pidge looks away and keeps struggling, still managing to get a few hits in.

“Get this bitch off me!”

Lance gasps, and he leans in, accidentally letting Pidge kick the man in the gut.

“Hey! Don’t call her that!”

“I’ll call that bitch what I want, you fucking fag!”

At that Hunk finally stomps forwards, puffing out his chest.

“Can you say a single thing that isn’t nasty?!”

The whole room devolves into screaming, and the entire time Pidge is still doing her damned hardest to beat some decency into Connor.

“Get away from my uncle you fricking gremlin!”

“That’s new,” Lance mutters, as Anna rushes over, shoving away Lance to grab at Pidge herself.

“Lance! Ah, don’t touch me you quiznacking witch!” she shrieks, focusing her attention on Anna.

“What the hell are you saying you fucking crazy kid?!”

“You just shoved my friend!”

“Puh-leeze! You need better taste in friends!”

Pidge glowers and opts to only slap Anna.

“I would’ve punched you, but you look weak as hell!”

“You little-!”

Matt has Anna’s wrist in his hand in mere seconds, his grip cutting off circulation.

“Don’t. Touch my sister.”

Keith is watching Tom, and the man-child looks legitimately terrified.

“You’re a piece of shit. Should’ve decked you a couple times the moment I first saw you.” he says, a dangerous look in his eyes.

Shiro stares down Connor, making sure he won’t try anything stupid, still terrifyingly quiet.

Connor grins back, but the expression is wild, like that of a cornered animal. Hostility is rolling off of Shiro at suffocating levels, burning away the oppressive atmosphere.

“H-hey! It’s Lance’s fault! He can’t ever do anything right-!” Tom yells.

“That’s your excuse you piece of trash?!” Keith screeches.

Matt drags Anna over to Carmen, and Pidge follows, slightly amazed by the fury her brother is showing.

“Where were the two of you when everything was happening?!” he screams at the two sisters. “He’s the youngest! You’re supposed to take care of him! He’s your sibling! How can you take someone like that for granted?!” he hollers, his voice growing hoarse. His eyes are prickling, but he refuses to let the tears fall. He though he’d lost Pidge forever, but she’d found him the stars, even more vibrant than before. How can they treat a sibling like Lance so callously?

He hates Anna, but he’s furious with Carmen.

“You did nothing. You _ignored_ it.”

Carmen says nothing, her shame explaining everything, trying to make silent excuses.

Lance sits on the ground, watching, giving up on trying to stop the disaster unfolding before his eyes. It’s a clusterfuck, for sure, but he can’t help but smile and laugh quietly to himself, clutching at his chest where it hurts the most.

“Anna… Get away from her.”

Lance’s entire body snaps up to attention, and he looks up, just in time to see Damien rushing in with a small pocket knife. His aim is unsteady though, and Damien must be high right now, because there’s no way a person’s aim can be this bad. It veers off course towards-

“Pidge!” he shrieks. Lance lunges forward and pulls her to the ground to shield her, his back wide open to Damien. He hugs her tight, shutting his eyes as he braces for impact, but it never comes. Instead, the whole room falls silent.

“Be careful Lance. Don’t let it drip on you.”

Slowly, Lance peels himself off Pidge, looking up to see molten metal dripping onto the floor, easily melting the linoleum. Shiro lifts his hand away from the handle of the knife, opening up his palm to let what’s left of the blade flow onto the ground.

“I’m going to say this once, and only once. If anyone tries to hurt the ones I care about, you’re going to the hospital, no matter how much Lance vouches for you. In fact, if I’m going to make some broad assumptions, he’s the only reason we haven’t tried to haul all of your asses to the police. The _only_ reason.”

The entire time Shiro lets his arm glow, and he casually rests against a chair back, letting his palm singe and smoke the wood.

“If that’s all clear. Let’s start talking, no? First things first. Pidge, you’ve recorded the confession?”

She pulls out her phone and starts playing a track.

“-why can’t I hit ‘im? He’s my nephew; I’m allowed to discipline him how-“

Pidge cuts off the recording, and instead begins to start showing pictures of Lance’s injuries, as well as the state of the house. Her face throbs from getting hit by Anna, and she rubs her palm against it before stowing away her cellphone.

“We have documentation of the abuse, as well as your own verbal acknowledgement. Anything else happens, and we go to the police.”

“Pidge?! Guys, I thought I said I didn’t want the police coming in-!”

“Lance!”

To everyone’s surprise, it’s Hunk who yells, his eyes tearing up.

“Lance, forget about that promise! What’re we going to do if you die?”

Lance blinks once; twice.

“’Die’? Guys, I’m not going to…” his voice fades away as he watches the molten metal solidify on the floor, and feels the bruise still healing on his neck. He falls silent, and Pidge hugs him tightly.

“It’s a precaution, not an absolute, okay?”

“Yeah.”

Lance keeps touching the bruise on his neck. Just how many times has he nearly died in this house? Without even realizing it?

“B-But,” he stutters, “I wanna still be able to bring the kiddies back home every day, and cook for them. They get lonely really easily, ‘cause they don’t really have anyone to play with.”

“You’re never going to be in this house alone. The Plan, remember?” Shiro says.

“Lance?”

A ripple of shock runs through the kitchen as his father appears. His face has wrinkles, and he’s so tired – more tired than Lance has ever remembered seeing his father.

His father scans the room and sighs.

“Let him go, everyone. How long will you all cling to Camile like this?”

His eyes drift to Shiro, and his mouth drops open.

Shiro jolts up in surprise, knocking his chair over, and he quickly deactivates his arm. He frowns at how quickly his hostility vanishes. The man creates a sense of ease around him, like Lance? Shiro looks at the man suspiciously.

“Um, sir, are you-?”

“I’m his father, yes.” He doesn’t look at Lance. “Haven’t done a good job of it though.”

“Dad, you…”

“Get your stuff and leave.”

Lance waits, then nods and runs up, followed by the rest. Matt still glares angrily at Carmen even as he stays as the rearguard. His father watches as Lance disappears. He loves Lance, but seeing Lance is painful too. He has Camile's soft hair and defined features, but there's also a fire in him that Camile never had.

He can't bear to be near Lance, but being away from him is painful too. He was weak, and Lance suffered instead. He lost the right to be a father a long time ago, but he'll cling to his love at least.

He looks at Connor, and his face darkens. Connor sees the expression, and he squirms under the gaze. Lance's father has furrowed his brows, the sharp creases between his eyes deep and puckered. The way he's narrowed his eyes make them dark pools that are only cut through with a gleam of sunlight. It's an unfamiliar expression, and Connor feels the unease wrack his body, unable to be controlled by reason. It's a deep, animalistic instinct that warns him.

Lance's father sighs deeply, the breath long and drawn out, rattling in his chest.

Love will sustain him and power him even in solitude and loneliness.

It must.

 

“Max, Sam!”

“You’re okay!” Max screeches, latching onto Lance’s arm.

“Uncle, can you stay with us tonight? It feels a little scary,” Sam whispers, hugging his sister and Lance.

“I…” he looks up at the rest of them expectantly.

“I can stay,” Keith says, gazing downstairs with a look of intense suspicion.

“Anyone else?” Lance immediately says, “I don’t want Keith to accidentally shank anyone that picks a fight with him,” he groans.

“I’m not going to stab anyone!”

The others look at Keith, their faces flat and unconvinced.

“Lemme grab my laptop and I can stay too,” Pidge offers, raising her hand.

“You guys are still outnumbered. I’ll stay too,” Shiro says.

“Oh c’mon! In that case I’ll just join for the heck of it! It’s gonna be a sleepover!” Hunk yells.

The others laugh at Hunk, but Lance loudest of all, ignoring his family with the rest of them.

“Yeah, a sleepover!”

Matt rolls his eyes and taps Shiro on the shoulder.

“GImme your keys. I’ll get Pidge’s laptop, and text me when you want me to pick you guys up in the morning. I need to get Ms. McClain’s request expedited right now.”

“Sorry about this all. I’ll walk you downstairs.”

“Thanks. Don’t trust any of those bastards.”

“Same here.”

Matt says goodbye to them all for now, and Shiro walks with him all the way to the door.

“See you tomorrow.”

“Yeah.”

Shiro stops as he passes the kitchen, turning to face everyone who’s still there. He ignores the father, focusing on Connor.

“Lance didn’t want the family to be split up, so that’s why we didn’t involve the authorities. I honestly wish I could turn all of you in, but I guess this is better in the long run. We don’t have time to get involved in a long and drawn out court case, especially if we’re going to be traveling more soon.”

Despite everything, Connor still smirks, but Shiro keeps talking.

“So that’s why if anything happens from now on, we’ll just make your life a living hell. Our hacker is good at what she does, and like I said before, I’ll just send you all straight to the hospital. This arm of mine doesn’t exist on earth, so you’d probably be carted over the psych ward if you tried to tell the truth, I bet.”

Shiro says everything so casually, that chills run down their backs. Shiro’s eyes are flat, and he sighs as he plods upstairs after the rest of the team. He opens the door to see everyone furiously piling stuffed animals and blankets and pillows onto the ground.

“What the hell?”

“There wasn’t a bed!” Pidge yells angrily, hurling a pillow at the floor. “Lance was sleeping on the ground!”

“Calm down guys,” Lance says, but Max and Sam giggle as Keith and Hunk now start scolding him and shouting at him. He gives up and smiles at Shiro, the gratitude shining and making Shiro’s legs feel weak and wobbly.

 

Shiro heads downstairs to grab a glass of water, Keith going down with him, and Lance blearily rubs at his eyes, settling deeper into Pidge and Hunk.

“Hey, guys?”

“Mmmrphhghhhh. Yea, man?”

“Fire away.”

“Why do you think Shiro likes me?” he asks the two, as he swears he can physically feel the bags appearing under his eyes.

“You’re cute?”

“Yeah, but like, you’re also super handsome, Hunk.”

“Awww, thanks!”

“Just ask him when he gets back,” Pidge mutters, groaning. “I’m pretty sure my REM cycle just got wrecked. Are Sam and Max still out?”

Hunk peeks over at the bed.

“Looks like it,” he whispers.

“Thank god,” Lance says.

The stairs creak slightly, and Shiro and Keith push through the door again, with Keith taking the extra second to lock it again behind him. Something glows near Keith’s hands, and Lance stifles a chuckle.

“Keith, buddy. I’m pretty sure you don’t need to wave your pig-sticker around all the time like that,” Hunk says. “Speaking of pigs, you got bacon in the house, Lance?”

“Made sure that was on the grocery list.”

“Awesome!”

The twins stir, and everyone freezes up, not daring to breathe until they’re still again.

“Shhhhh.”

“Shhhhh!”

“Quiet guys.”

“The kiddies!”

Hunk laughs quietly, and everyone scoots around to make room for Shiro and Keith again.

“Whoops, sorry.”

There’s a whole shuffle as Lance gets crushed between Hunk and Shiro, who’s awkwardly holding his cup of water in two hands as they jostle around. Somehow Keith gets pushed and ends up splayed over Hunk and Lance’s legs, and Pidge complains and crawls around until she finds a place that looks like anything but comfy, all wedged between Hunk’s lap and Keith’s torso while tucking her head onto Lance’s stomach.

“Jesus, Pidge. Can you even sleep like that?” Lance asks, staring oddly at the scene.

“Yeah. Perfectly.”

“Is that snark or legit?”

“Legit.”

“Suit yourself.”

Pidge grunts and knocks on Shiro’s thigh.

“Hey, before we forget, Loverboy here wants to know why you got the hots for him.”

They all snap their attention towards the man, but he’s already prepared and looking away. Keith can still see the tips of Shiro’s ears though, scarlet under the moonlight.

“Well, I mean,” he falters, “do I have to say it around everyone?”

“Why not?” Hunk says, wrapping his arms around Keith and Pidge, all while eyeing his arm-span to see if he can fit Lance in too.

“Shiro, pretty please-!”

“Please don’t,” he says, as soon as he hears Lance’s voice sweetly begging.

“I swear to god if you pop a boner Matt will break your dick,” Pidge says.

“Hey, I still need that,” Lance mutters.

“Gross!”

Shiro coughs and pinches Lance on the waist before settling down after Lance squawks.

“Well, you’re kind, you have a good sense of justice, and the way you love life so much is kind of…” Shiro searches for the right word.

“Intoxicating.”

He begins again, haltingly.

“Being around you is really comfortable. It feels like I don’t have to worry about much when I’m talking with you, especially when you smile like that. My favorite part about you is your voice though. It’s so bright and optimistic.”

Lance has been listening the whole time to Shiro’s stilted speech, his face heating up like crazy the whole time. Thank god it’s dark. To the side, Pidge is mock gagging, Keith nodding furiously at her the whole time, and Hunk just seems to bathe in the infatuation coming from Shiro and Lance.

“Your turn,” Shiro says, suddenly looking at Lance so intently that his insides turn to mush. He’s still reeling from all that praise and now this? He’s not sure he can even _think_ clearly right now, let alone speak.

“Uh, tiddies,” he blurts out, squeezing one of Shiro’s pecs on instinct.

There’s dead silence for a solid second, before Pidge shoves her face into Lance’s shirt, trying to muffle her raucous laughter. Her entire body heaves as she struggles not to be too loud, and Lance becomes increasingly aware of the death-glare Keith’s giving him, all while Hunk stares in horror. Lance peeks up at Shiro, and the man stares at him, his usual clear-eyed stare wild and muddled.

“I forgot to say something,” he croaks at Lance. “Your ass is cute and I wanna squeeze your thighs.

At that Lance _needs to_ drop his jaw, and it’s Keith’s turn to look incredulously at Shiro.

“It’s fucking flat, Shiro.”

“That’s all you can say?!” Hunk scream-whispers, and by now Pidge is sure that a hole is burning through her stomach, from all the laughing she’s doing.

“Actually, it’s not that flat,” Shiro responds. His reply is so earnest and matter-of-fact that the others wonder if they’re having a mass hallucination.

“Lance doesn’t wear tight clothes, so you can’t always tell.”

“Since when have you been looking?!” Keith whispers venomously.

Shiro gazes to the side, silent.

Hunk just looks scandalized, dragging Lance over to his side, to Shiro’s dismay.

“So,” Pidge mutters, “Who would’ve know Shiro’s just your average, perverted old man?”

“I’m not a pervert!”

“You just admitted to looking at Lance’s ass!” Hunk whisper-yells.

The man’s face is embarrassingly red, and he realizes he’s now in a mortal battle for the last shreds of his dignity.

“Sometimes! By accident! And then I stop! Also, I’m not that old!”

“Bitch you’re almost thirty,” Pidge whispers. Lance’s head swivels around, and he watches as even Pidge looks like she has no idea what kind of snarky monster just jumped from her mouth.

Shiro takes a deep, deep breath, firmly pulling Lance closer towards him to cuddle, and to make sure he doesn’t wake up the twins. Maybe it’s too late honestly.

“Pidge. What would Matt say if he heard you say that?”

Pidge doesn’t even take a moment to think over her answer.

“He’d agree with me, high-five me, then start calling you an old man too.”

“…I can’t argue with that,” he mutters, before nuzzling into Lance out of frustration. Keith is staring, not sure what quite to do, wondering if everything he’s ever believed about Shiro is nothing but a big, fat lie. Lance meanwhile is content to just let Shiro hold him like this.

“You’ve been staring at my ass?” Lance teases, smiling, wondering how far he can go with all of them tangled up like this.

“Oh god no,” Pidge says, her voice dimly registering in the back of his head.

Shiro pauses. He should be cutting his losses by now. The smartest thing to do right now would be to stop this conversation, but – what the heck? He’s gone this far, might as well dive head in.

“Your legs look nice in the Paladin suit.”

“You too. Well, everyone looks nice in the Paladin suit, actually.”

Before he can stop himself, he rubs at a slim arm. In terms of strength, he’s probably second to last, right before Pidge, and she’s two years younger than him. He probably looks like a stick in that suit, for all intents and purposes.

Lance quickly tries to disconnect his mind from such stupid stuff, and to his relief Hunk cuts in.

“Feeling better?”

“Mn. Yeah,” he sighs.

“You’ve thought about it, haven’t you?” Hunk says, laughing to himself.

“I mean, I mean, everyone’s super cool, and Shiro’s such a hero – _god_ it’s so dreamy, Shiro’s so nice, super strong, brave and… yea.”

He catches himself on that last bit, trying to not let his insecurities fall out and infect everyone’s mood. Self-pity gets annoying after a while.

“Lance?” Hunk asks, and the boy just grins and drown in the warmth of his friends.

“You’re hiding something.”

Hunk doesn’t let up his stare on Lance, and Lance starts wondering what’s his tell that Hunk seems to know so well.

“I’ll say if you tell me how you know first.”

“Easy. You didn’t say anything back.”

The simplicity of the whole thing outrages Lance, but he merely gives up and nods. So, his tell is that obvious?

“Shiro’s cool and strong and brave and I’m… not? I guess?”

Four pairs of eyes blink back at him in confusion, silently at a loss for words.

Shiro sighs, leaning over to slowly press their foreheads together. The cool skin that Lance is expecting to feel is surprisingly warm.

He’s embarrassed.

“Lance,” Shiro breathes, “you realize you’re already all of those things?”

“Liar.”

“Not about something like this.”

“I… I-I-!”

His voice stutters into oblivion, and breathing is suddenly so hard. He jerks away from them. Pidge yelps as she falls onto the ground. Curling in on himself, his mind is panicking for some reason. His brain is arguing with his heart, screaming at him that all his friends are liars, while another piece of him screeches back that they love him so much. The fighting in his head drowns out all else, and he scrunches in on himself even harder. The world turns into a blinding, empty white.

The haze clears after what feels like too long, and the others all are watching him.

 _Scared,_ he thinks. They’re a little scared. Why wouldn’t they be, after finally seeing just how easily he can fall to pieces?

“Lance, how long have you just been – just been doing _that_?” Keith blurts.

“Been a shitty day.”

Lance gasps as Shiro grabs him and holds him tight.

“I’m so sorry, Lance. You’ve been holding on this whole time, haven’t you?”

“No, it’s nothing like that. I just needed to be a little stronger? It would’ve been fine if I could’ve just held on, honestly. That’s what I did before,” he replies, his voice light yet flat.

His mind is doing that curious thing, where it covers itself in a hazy curtain. It’s as if he’s experiencing everything through a layer of thick vinyl, dulled and lumpy.

Shiro squeezes Lance harder.

“It’s okay to not be strong sometimes,” he says, voice rough. The man’s eyes are shut tight, and he buries his face into Lance’s soft hair, trying to ignore the bandages he can feel through Lance’s shirt. Lance’s eyes widen.

“Yeah, that’s true. You have us,” Hunk pleads. He clasps his hands onto Lance’s shoulders.

“It’s… okay?”

“Dumbass, of course it is,” Pidge whispers, eyes full of pain as she presses into Lance’s chest, adding to the sensations grounding him.

Lance looks up at Keith, head tilted to the side. The man looks… like he’s suffering.

“You okay, Keith?”

Keith nods and throws himself into the middle of the pile, fitting his head into the crook of Lance’s neck.

“I’m doing this right?”

“Mmhm.”

Lance rests his head on top of Keith’s, smiling.

“Thanks, guys.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah, I was trying to be logical about what would happen, no matter how disappointing it might get.
> 
> A lot of the times, the people get away with it, and victims don't really get closure. Even if they wanted to sue, Lance is right in that the family as a whole would be burdened, including Sam and Max. For example, even if everyone pled guilty, Lance would have to suffer as a witness at trial, and the loss of family income would have rippling effects.
> 
> It's not fair, but at least Lance has others to support him in such a situation. 
> 
> I think the next chapter might be the last, and then I might post a chapter with some miscellaneous stuff that never made it in.


	9. It's done.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Maybe it's not the happy ending everyone wanted, but it's an ending nonetheless.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I dunno why, but this chapter was so incredibly short compared to my other ones. I felt like it was time to end it all.

Lance grew up in this house.

He went to sleep on a mattress with hard coils that bit into his back in this house.

He ate savory garlic knots baked to golden perfection on a plastic dinner table in this house.

He laughed and taught Max how to fold and tear out squares to make into fortune tellers in this house.

He helped Sam color in a large, nonsensical drawing on a slab of poster paper on bumpy wooden floors in this house.

He cried in this house.

He cut lines onto his thighs in this house.

He wrapped tape around his fingers and called the local clinic in this house.

If it weren’t for Voltron, maybe everything that defined his life could be encapsulated into this house.

Which is why Lance’s entire body springs back and lunges out of the room the moment he hears _the_ _noise_.

 _THUMP_.

It’s a loud, dull noise. One that doesn’t fit into the crashing and beating that echoes regularly in the house. It’s a noise that instinctively makes fear drip from his chest and pool in his stomach. He leaps for the door, knocking off Shiro and Pidge and nearly stepping onto Hunk and Keith as he sprints downstairs. The others moan and complain, but he can’t understand what they’re saying. The soles of his bare feet slap onto the creaking steps; a stumble near the end almost dashes his body against the tiles again.

He gasps from shock but doesn’t stop moving, ignoring the increasingly more panicked yells from upstairs as he sways towards the kitchen.

“…Oh, fuck.”

Lance drops to his knees, the shock jarring and running straight up to his skull. He pitches down and crawls forward, untrusting of his feet.

“Huh. You really did fight in a war. You’re so calm.”

Lance’s father idly fiddles with the kitchen knife in his hands, then wipes it off on his dirty shirt. Fresh human blood, bright red and fragrant, is splashed over his face and clothes. More is pooled out over the linoleum. Lance stares at the blood and sighs deeply. He doesn’t care that he needs to fill his nostrils with the scent of iron to do so.

It just feels like a good time to sigh.

“So, why now?” he asks, his brain pleasantly disconnected from emotions for now.

Lance slouches and traces the stab wounds in Connor’s back. His fingers press into the damp cloth, depressing slightly at the edges of each wound. It’s a good thing Connor fell forward, since that means Lance doesn’t have to see the glassy eyes of the dead. He’s always hated how even in space, the dead have aimless, glossy eyes.

“He touched you.”

At those words, Lance merely presses his lips into a thin line and furrows his brows at his father.

Lance’s understands what’s not being spoken right now, and for the first time ever, he thinks he hates his father.

Just a little bit.

“Lance, what’s going on- oh.”

“Shiro, the twins.”

From the entrance, Shiro nods and sighs, equally unaffected by the scent of blood. He rubs the bridge of his nose at the scar, as if he’s dealing with something minor, like forgetting to buy the groceries. Not Connor, dead on the ground, the man’s blood rapidly growing thick and clotted. It’ll be a dull sludge if they can’t clean it up fast enough.

“I’ll call the cops too.”

“Thanks.”

Lance hears Shiro walk away, then startles as Shiro returns and covers Lance’s eyes.

“You don’t need to keep looking.”

How does Lance respond to that? How does he explain that no, he _needs_ to keep looking, until his brain finally understands, and the constant buzzing of his fear can finally subside permanently? He can’t believe that Connor is gone until he waits long enough and sees the man never get up.

He’s silent, but Shiro gently pulls Lance back and lets the boy rest in the crook of his neck, if even for just a second.

“He’s dead,” Shiro says, and there’s a strange lilt to it, one that makes Lance wonder if Shiro is saying that for Lance, or for himself.

While Lance still can’t see, Shiro nods in thanks at Lance’s father.

The man looks up and looks back at Lance with red-rimmed eyes, skin jaundiced from years of drinking.

In that moment, Shiro feels an inexplicable hate for the man.

Feels it well up inside him and make his skin itch.

He wishes he could scratch that itch, but Lance is right. The kids. Shiro lets go of Lance and hurries upstairs, leaving Lance alone with his father again.

Lance peers at Shiro as the man heads back upstairs. Shiro’s right. Connor is finally dead. It’s not Connor anymore.

It’s a corpse.

His gaze slides towards the corpse, then back up at his father. Lance has a suspicion. He has a suspicion about the motive – that it might be more muddled than how the police will see it.

“Hey.”

Lance’s father looks at him.

“Did you ever see _me_ , or was I always just _Camile_?”

 

* * *

 

_Sirens screech and scream in the distance, like exotic birds hideously crying out in the morning._

_Lance’s father finally says nothing._

_...His answer tells Lance everything._

 

* * *

 

 

Lance gasps as he suddenly realizes he’s resting on Shiro’s lap on the bed, his two paltry duffle bags shoved in the corner of the room.

“You back with us, buddy?”

Lance nods and sits up, slowly. Movement by movement, limb by limb. He gratefully accepts the glass of water Shiro that offers him.

“Well. Today’s been interesting,” he says. Shiro stares, then bursts out laughing.

“Yes, it has been!” he replies, his smile gorgeous and bright and doing a very good job at grounding Lance even more. After all, it’s hard to stay floaty when your stomach and heart are having palpitations and drunken buzzes of heat.

“Have we eaten already?”

Shiro shakes his head.

“Not yet. The police were questioning us and then we _really_ had to bully HR here into giving your sister a place here. Like, immediately.”

Right on cue, their stomachs rumble, and Shiro awkwardly holds his midsection as he blushes. Lance narrows his eyes at Shiro, then his jaw drops.

“Have you guys been _waiting_ for me?”

Shiro chuckles and makes a tiny space between his thumb and pointer finger.

“Just for a bit. Nothing crazy.”

Lance groans and falls back onto Shiro’s lap.

“Why are you guys like this? Why are _you_ like this, Shiro?”

Shiro’s expression grows vulnerable, and he leans down to look closely at Lance. The sudden movement makes Lance stare back, stiff and anxious.

He hadn’t been expecting an actual answer.

“…You remember the riverbed ambush?”

Lance narrows his eyes at Shiro, observing. He can catch a hint of conflict, but mostly embarrassment. Lots of it.

Shiro tells Lance the whole story, even the bits about how beautiful he thought Lance looked, splashing and dancing about in gore filled water.

Lance listens in slack-jawed silence the entire time. For him, that time had been memorable, but also oddly normal, filed away into the “Dangerous Battles” folder in his brain. Stuff to recollect, for sure, but also stuff that had become just another everyday thing after Voltron.

He smiles and sits up next to Shiro, pressing their shoulders together.

“Two years, right? Betcha I can beat that.”

Shiro’s eyes crinkle at the edges, and he leans close, smirking.

“I’d like to see you try.”

“That asshole you beat up back in the day at the base. What do you remember?”

The man takes a moment to close his eyes and think. Memories of that day bring up blind rage above all else.

“What should I be remembering?”

“Whatever you remember.”

The roundabout language makes Shiro pout, and he starts an actual effort to remember the day so many years ago.

“I think I was mostly pissed at the guy that had hit Keith, but when I get there, the asshole’s actually whaling on a kid who’s somehow still standing,” Shiro growls. “Right in front of me.”

The lanky kid was slumped over, but still on two feet, gasping and guarding his face and stomach as he was being attacked. He tried to counterattack, but his feet were swept out from under him instead. He crawled back up and kept lunging though; kept trying. All as he teammates screamed in the back, one short and one large.

Shiro blinks and stares deep at Lance’s face, all while trying to make his blurry memory sharpen, contorting his face into all sorts of complex emotions as he tries to process this all.

“You?” Shiro whispers, after all the metamorphoses his expression has gone through. The smile Lance gives Shiro is lazy and indulgent, but the luxurious motion is betrayed by the boy’s gaze. Its sparkling and wet, like a torrential rain on dark sapphires.

“And so began my shitty six-year-long crush,” Lance snickers, a muted sadness tinting the impishness of his upturned nose and plush lips with somber lust.

“Pidge went just a _little_ too hard on the snark, and the guy was about the ask her to fight him, so I jumped in instead, pfft.”

Shiro kisses Lance.

The suddenness stuns Lance, but he knows Shiro is patient. Knows Shiro will wait for him to kiss back, and that Shiro will open his mouth when he pokes at the man’s teeth with his tongue.

The two’s tongues are sliding against each other, trying to understand how this all works. The last kiss Lance had was incestuous, and Shiro’s been almost ten years out of the game.

Despite everything, it works.

The two deepen their kiss, falling into each other’s arms as they try to ignore the lack of oxygen, completely sucked in by the softness of tongues and the contrasting firmness of lips, melding together into an intoxicating mess.

Shiro pulls away first, before one of them passes out, and he waits for the glittering floaters in his vision to clear. Lance mumbles and groans a little, rubbing at his eyes, but they’re both eventually coherent again.

Shiro crawls off the bed and offers his hand to Lance.

“C’mon. Let’s go eat.”

Before Shiro realizes it, Lance has intertwined their fingers, palms firmly pressed against each other. The boy smiles mischievously, and Shiro feels his heart skip a beat. Holding up their hands like a trophy, Lance leaps off the bed.

“Yes, lets.”

Shiro lets himself be guided out by Lance, and he swears the boy is shining the brightest he’s ever seen, more strongly than Shiro could even imagine.

 

“I love you.”

Lance rushes ahead, praying that Shiro can't see his face, but it's too late. Shiro can see how scarlet his ears are, how they're almost purple. Swallowing, Lance laughs and runs, dragging the man along with him. The words make his chest burn hot, and he tries to reply with that same, flaming intensity.

“I love you too!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I left the future blank for all of your guys to imagine, and thanks for staying with me on this for forever!
> 
> Next chapter's just gonna be a buncha miscellaneous stuff that never made it into the fic!


	10. Misc.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Just a buncha drabbles and passages that I liked writing, but failed to make it in.

_An initial idea I had for introducing the team to Tom. It didn't pan out in the end._

“LAAAANCE!”

At the sound, Lance’s eyes widen, and he stumbles back with a flinch, arms flung out to ward off some attacker. It takes only a second for Lance to react, but Shiro’s already grounded himself in front of the boy, while Pidge flanks his left. Hunk is close behind as Keith moves, whirling around with a crescent kick, his shin firmly slamming into the charging stranger’s stomach.

It’s the formation they practiced in case someone went down.

The man drops down, coughing, and Keith stands over him, his eyes cold and hard.

“Who are you? Why were you about to attack us?”

The man coughs and splutters some more, raising up a hand as he looks up.

“Dude, calm down! I just wanted to surprise my brother! Didn’t think he’d have _bodyguards_ ,” the man jokes. 

The laughter he expects doesn’t come, and his face twists in confusion as Pidge help Lance up.

“It was a joke, why’re you all acting so serious? Hey, the one who kicked me! SHouldn’t you at least apologize for that?!”

Lance sees Tom’s temper building, and he splashes over with weak chuckles, nearly knocking down Keith.

“Tom?! Guys, this is my older brother, Tom! You really scared me! Sorry, we’re just all kinda jumpy nowadays.”

Lance pulls up Tom in a single motion, and for the first time, he realizes just how strong Lance is. All of Lance’s friends look just as if not more fit, even the teenager in the bikini top and board shorts, the muscles clearly defined in her arms and legs.

Tom swallows, seeing the strongly-rooted stances they’ve all taken, with Lance being the only one who looks remotely relaxed and loose.

At Lance’s voice though, they drop the intimidation act and come in. Even the asshole who kicked him looks apologetic.

“Sorry,” the man mumbles, extending a hand.

“No problem,” Tom replies, shaking his hand.

“Tom, this is Hunk, Pidge, Keith, and Shiro! The Paladins of Voltron!” Lance exclaims proudly, gesturing with a flourish.

“Oh, nice to meet you all,” Tom says, this whole thing suddenly not as fun anymore. The oldest man walks in, his face sympathetic.

“Again, we’re really sorry. Muscle-memory is a hard thing to fight,” he jokes, towering over Tom. Tom has a sneaking suspicion that Shiro could snap him in half like a twig if he wanted to. Hunk is to the side, talking with Lance, and Tom revises his mental notes. No, Shiro _and_ Hunk could _both_ snap him in half in they wanted to.

“I’ve sparred with Keith, so I know how much those kicks sting. You sure you’re alright?” Shiro asks.

“Um, I’m fine.”

That’s a big fat lie. His stomach still doesn’t feel right yet.

“Lance, I’m gonna go now! See you at home!” Tom calls, before splashing away as fast as he can.

“He’s kinda shy, no?” Pidge notes, watching the man run away.

“Sorry guys, he’s usually more talkative.”

Lance looks at his retreating brother with genuine confusion, wide open for any sort of attack. Pidge’s eyes narrow, and with a giggle she tackles Lance into the waves, before swimming away.

“Gotchas!” she yells in between breaths. Lance gasps and sits up, bangs plastered to his face. Right as he pushes his hair out of the way, Keith and Hunk both pour handfuls of water over him.

“Traitors!” Lance yells, but Hunk and Keith are swimming towards Pidge, conveniently unable to hear him. He looks so miffed that Shiro bursts out in laughter, clutching at his stomach. The noise makes Lance look up in awe, and he quickly peeks back, grateful that the others are still swimming away. He’s feeling a little selfish right now.

“Well then, shall we catch the traitors?” Shiro jokes, reaching down towards Lance, who’s very glad that he’s in this cold ocean. Shiro’s hair is slick and wet, and the bright sun is shining down upon him, highlighting his cheekbones and the bridge of his nose. His scar looks like a stripe of pure silver. 

 _Lance McCLain, you are so, soooo fucked_.

 

* * *

_An alternate scene in Shiro's backstory I wrote, where Shiro's mother finds out about his relationship with Kei right after discovering his college acceptance._

Tonight’s dream isn’t a dream, to Shiro’s surprise. It’s cold, and he and Kei are checking for their names. Every now and then he glances over a Kei, still stunned sometimes that he’s dating a person like this. Shiro’s one of the taller ones on the baseball team, but Kei who plays basketball is somehow even taller than him, believe it or not, and painfully handsome – enough that Shiro feels like such as schlub next to him. He purses his lips and keeps checking, trepidation making his look everywhere but where his number is supposed to be. Hell, there’s people around them already sniffling.

“I’m in,” Kei says coolly. Shiro eyes widen, and he smiles at his first boyfriend ever.

“Congratulations.”

“So, hurry up and check,” the boy says, nudging Shiro in the ribs.

“Got it, got iiiiiit.”

He steels himself, takes a good look, and whaddya know, there’s his name too. He and Kei can both go to the same college.

“I’m in!” he yells, laughing and swinging Kei up in a huge bear hug, much to the taller boy’s surprise, taking advantage of the crowd to quickly kiss him. Shiro stops cackling and drops Kei, when he suddenly freezes. He locks eyes with his mother, then quickly says goodbye to Kei and runs over. He’s about to tell her the good news, when his phone’s snatched from his hand.

“Huh, mom?”

“Let me charge this in the front seat for now.”

“Oh, sure.”

His phone is still half-full. It’ll last until home for sure. Shiro forces himself not to bristle as texts from Kei filter in, discussing what their future in college together might be like, including the final one, full of pure, honest emotion.

[We’re going to be so happy. I love you so much.]

His mom has been glancing down with every buzz, and she only opens her mouth at the stoplight.

“How long?”

“…Since junior year.”

And from there everything spirals down.

 

* * *

_A scene I wrote that delved a little more into Lance's past being penpals with Hunk, but it didn't work out in the end. I_ _t was how I originally planned for the entire team to altogether discover hints of the abuse, but I couldn't make it fit._

“Lance used to be a lot… er… iffier. You get what I mean?”

The others stare at Hunk, heads tilted.

“We were online pen pals at first, and we started emailing first. Hell, wouldn’t even message me or text me.”

“Seriously? Lance?” Keith says, plucking out his phone to show the notifications to the groupchat. “He’s been sending more since we came to Cuba.

“Yeah! He’s even texting Coran!” Pidge adds. She leans forwards towards Hunk. “Seriously?! He used to be shy?!”

Shiro startles at that. It’s hard to imagine Lance being so reserved or hesitant, but it also sounds… oddly charming. He can just imagine Lance with interlaced fingers, bashfully looking away, mulling over what words to say.

_Ah, he already does that though._

Lance will go quiet sometimes, thinking about how to cheer everyone up, and the way he adapts and goes with the flow as needed, that sometimes makes him not stand out. Lance is many things, and Shiro smiles as he realizes he’s found another little piece.

“No. It was kind of scary.”

Shiro freezes, but gathers himself together to look up.

“Huh?”

Pidge and Keith are just as stunned, staring at Hunk in confusion.

“He’d never mail me at first, not unless I emailed first. Also, if I didn’t ask him to email back, he never would. I had to always make sure to ask him specifically in my emails. Oh yeah! His mails back at first were also really plain.”

“There’s no way that person was Lance.”

Even Shiro doesn’t know what he’s doing right now. He wants to argue with Hunk right now, for no good reason, because a kid like that can’t possibly be Lance. His mind drifts back to scars, but he still keeps talking.

“Um, Shiro?”

“No way. Lance is too talkative, plus just being alive is considered fun to him. He’d want to tell everything to a new friend.”

Hunk frowns, and he settles down into his seat.

“It took him a while, but he started acting like that eventually.”

Lance’s face is blank as he types up an email for Hunk. It’s actually a very interesting name when he thinks about it. Hunk wants to know more though, and he doesn’t know how to respond exactly. Hunk wants to know more about what fun stuff he’s done today.

With that flat face he starts typing up excited about how much it rained today, and how strong the waves were today. That was super cool. If he thinks about it like that, then yeah, today was pretty fun. Then yesterday he tried cooking for the first time. He made something edible, so he guesses that’s fun too. As he keeps writing his email, he has to pause every now and then, a broken finger making typing painful, but a smile is forming on his face.

Actually, everyday has been very fun.

 

* * *

 

_The longest of all the snippets and drabbles; a whole thing on a scene from Lance's time in Lotor's captivity, about the origin of the blue hairpin. It actually has an escape scene as well, but technically within the fic that escape doesn't happen, lol._

The half-mask that Lance is wearing is surprisingly comfortable. The elastic straps don’t dig in that deeply, and the glass over the eyeholes is dark yet crystal clear, creating the illusion that the mask is a single piece of molded obsidian. It’s a flattering design that hides his face well.  His clothes are equally practical yet stylish.

Of course, that doesn’t change how he’s casually strolling next to Prince Lotor, disguised in all of his civilian glory. Lance can’t help it, but his fingers drift to the silver bracelets on his wrists. There are similar rings around his neck under his collar, as well as another one over his thigh under the trousers. The way they work is so deceptively simple, that Lance is certain that Pidge or Hunk would need less than a day to build the exact same thing.

Lotor just has to press a switch and the small blades inside will swing out and cut through his veins and arteries.

He glances up at Lotor through the mirrored glass of his mask.

 The Galran is strange and erratic.

Sometimes he’ll talk to Lance in his cell, indulging in the company, then the next moment he’ll be snapping at the boy, his claws gouging into the metal walls.

He caught Lance with poisons and trickery, and now the rest of the Paladins think that Lance is dead. Despite the mind games he expected from Lotor though, his gut tells him that in spite of it all, Lotor might actually be honest with him sometimes.

Lance is no expert – he can’t catch the lies, but he’s always been good at watching. A person who likes mind games needs a poker face of steel; a specific personality for every situation. He has undeniable power over Lance’s very existence, but the personality he uses doesn’t match up.

Even a poker face can’t fake vulnerability.

Vulnerability is like poison. You can fake it, but it’s an act that digs at reality and at one’s very core. Sooner or later the act will dig up a piece of truth, then more and more until that personality is just your true self, exposed to person you were supposed to have control over.

Lotor isn’t crazy enough to use vulnerability as an effective tool. It seeps out, just like right now, inviting Lance out on a whim to a festival. 

Lance sighs, the sound drowned out by the lively crowds around them.

“Hm? What’s wrong?” Lotor asks, looking down. He waits for an answer for barely a second, before looking back forward, clenching his teeth.

So what if Lotor’s gotten a bit honest with him? Lance thinks.

It’s still nothing that will get Lance out of this mess. Lotor can and will still kill him if he tries to run, or if his hand is forced.

In that case…

“Hey!” Lance gives a sharp tug on Lotor’s sleeve. “So, you do this often? Going all incognito and etcetera?” he asks, grinning widely.

In that case, he’s going to live it up tonight. He’s got a prince who’s probably loaded with him, and if he regrets it later, then it’s his fault for underestimating how Lance used to always wheedle his siblings out of their allowance.

The sharp change in Lance throws Lotor off-balance, and he answers with a pause and a grimace.

“Personally, not often, but I do this enough that my advisors have a hard time.”

“… You should do something nice for them soon, if they’re always covering for you,” Lance answers. He holds his head as he remembers frantically searching for his niece and nephew at every outing. “They probably care for you a lot.”

Lotor’s lips are slightly pulled back from his teeth, his expression off-put.

“Do you always do… that?”

“Do what?”

Lotor notices that he no longer needs to take slow steps, as Lance effortlessly keeps up with his larger strides, new energy bouncing inside the boy along with his attitude change.

“Just… change how you’re feeling in a nanotick. I’ve seen it enough times, but it never stops being disturbing.”

The question almost makes Lance stumble, but he hopes that Lotor doesn’t catch that single hesitant step. He hems-and-haws, holding a thumbnail against his mouth, but not biting it. The half-moon of his nail compressess his bottom lip, pressing down and showing just how soft the boy’s lips are. When he answers, Lotor is startled out of his focus.

“I don’t like feeling bad. So if there’s no reason to feel bad, even if I’m not okay, I’ll throw everything into at least _trying_ to be happy. Then, lo-and-behold! Eventually you start feeling better!”

Lance laces his fingers behind his back, stretching out his shoulders. He forces himself to stop touching the bracelets.

“I can’t escape right now, and I’m a little scared, but if I just stay like that, then it’s going to be a waste of all the fun I might be able to have right now, and who knows when the next chance might come? Mmn, does that make sense?”

He looks up at Lotor, his head tilted forward for a response. By now, Lotor’s wishing that Lance didn’t need a mask. It’s hard enough to read the boy in general, when all his smiles feel like starry warmth, and it’s near-quiznacking-impossible to read the Blue Paladin with covered eyes.

“Something’s wrong with you.”

“Yes, yes, yes!”

Lance laughs again, and the sound is like a hot stone pressing inside Lotor’s chest.

He plays along as Lance begins asking too many questions all at once, about all the different booths and the food and the different aliens they see. The boy’s voice dips up and down and is growing louder to Lotor’s unease, but he wishes he could at least see the Paladin’s eyes, to see if the boy’s eyes are just as bright as his voice right now.

It’s right at that moment, that he realizes that it’s too late.

Lance grabs his wrist, pointing at a stall while saying something, but Lotor’s head is in a haze, and he lets Lance drag him over to wait in line for something deep fried that smells so good that it _has_ to banned on a couple planets.

He’s been entangled by honesty and sympathy, soft hair and dark eyes; sunshine smiles and indominable spirit.

In short, he’s absolutely quiznacked.

It’s dangerous to be around this boy who’s too good for his own good. Good enough to show kindness and warmth to even a person who’s tried to kill him. Good enough to tear through Lotor’s shells way too effortlessly for some fragile species.

Yet despite everything, there’s a ruthlessly realistic part of Lance that tells him that Lotor would push that switch on his jacket button, and kill him if he did anything out of line.

He’s a bundle of contradictions crudely sewn together into a single being, and for some reason that just makes Lotor even more terrified and infatuated. A boy who automatically knows how much to limit his trust for a person, all while still insane enough to give over every last drop of his kindness. After all, it’s not like the two need to be linked, and sometimes, when Lotor catches something in Lance’s eyes that goes beyond the warmth, he knows that Lance knows.

But still, he does things like _this_. Talks with him like it’s some sort of drug, or he does absolutely reckless things like taking the boy out into the open.

 

They both crunch into the crispy, blue-colored patty that has a suspicious shape, and Lance squeals with delight before he’s even bitten through the thing, while Lotor nearly gags on overpowering taste of grease and flesh.

“Huh? You okay?!”

He braces Lotor by the arms, as the Galran discreetly coughs. Lance is a whole head or two shorter than Lotor, but his puny support seems to be doing a little for Lotor.

“Do you not like heavy foods?” he asks lightly, like when his little cousins got stomachaches from eating too much or something weird.

Lotor coughs and shakes his head, finally forcing his meat down his throat.

“Here, have mine,” he says, pulling Lance’s hands off him. He places his food into the boy’s palms.

“You dropped yours.”

Lance blinks at the thing in his hands, then glances down behind him.

“Oh gosh! I did! Noooooo, my fooood!”

He crunches sadly on his patty, but the sour mood passes by in a flash and he devours the rest of the meat, licking his fingers at the very end.

“Thanks for that,” he asks once Lotor’s recovered. “You alright though?”

“…I’m a bit sensitive, since I was trained since birth to taste even minute differences.”

The moment he’s done talking, Lotor gives himself a mental kick in the ass. He’s given away too much with just a single sentence.

Lance looks up curiously up at him, then nods.

“Man, I wish my little cousins were like you!” he sighs. “They’ve eaten all sorts of crazy stuff when I’m not looking, then guess what? I gotta play what’s probably the most stressful game of twenty-questions _ever_. Like, ‘hmmmm, is it poisonous?’, or something like that.”

The Blue Paladin’s family. Lotor’s eyes widen, and his feet freeze in the ground. Lance walks a few steps ahead, but he stops and turns around.

“Hm? Left the stove on or something?”

Lotor forces himself to catch up, playing it off as nothing.

“Hah, you wish. What’s a stove?”

“Something you cook on. It’s dangerous to leave on for too long, since it gets really hot and could burn something. That’s why you want to make sure it’s off when you leave the house.”

“I see.”

“Oh snap! Rigged carnival games! Betcha I can pull that one off!” Lance exclaims, pointing at a shooting range.

Lotor smirks and shurgs.

“You said it yourself. They’re rigged.”

“Doesn’t mean it’s impossible! There’s a reason why the kiddies always wanted me to play these ones for them!”

He rushes towards it, Lotor following from behind. At the stall, he watches all the other aliens trying their hand at the game, his voice silent, to Lotor’s shock. Lance’s eyes flit over everything about the game, from the little faux blasters to how the others aim. Soon enough, he stands straight.

“Me next!” he chirps, glancing at Lotor to the booth’s owner. Lotor rolls his eyes and pays with a few coins, enough to give Lance only a single shot.

Lance frowns at Lotor, then grumbles and aims at the target in the back.

“You’re an asshole, you know that? I mean, duh, but even more so right now,” he complains, firing off the little pin, which smacks down the raised monster board in the back.

Lotor’s eyes widen, and next thing he knows, Lance is holding out towards Lotor a large hairpin with a small stone inlaid on one end.

“Here ya’ go.”

“How… How did you…”

“I watched to see how accurate the guns are. They have a tendency to go high and to the right.”

Lotor accepts the hairpin, tilting his head at Lance, who’s movements have gone stiff, like his clipped voice.

“I got too into it. I can’t keep anything I win, so take that. Doesn’t your hair get annoying? Put it up with that.”

A girl nearby gasps and trips, spilling everything in her arms all over the ground.

“Whoa! Are you alright?”

Lance runs over and kneels down in front of her, picking up the scattered bits of tech.

“L-Lance…”

Lance’s blood freezes, and he peeks up. Pidge isn’t wearing her glasses right now.

He shakes his head, the movement looking more like a shiver. Pidge forces herself to keep facing Lance, noticing the tall figure waiting to the side for Lance.

“Let’s run,” she seethes through gritted teeth, pretending to nod and smile as Lance helps her pick everything up.

Lance runs his thumbs over his silver bracelets, then wipes at the sweat under his chin, as if he’s slicing across it. Pidge’s eyes widen, and she laughs some more.

“Is there a range?”

Lance nods again, and it’s agony for Pidge, not being able to show her shock.

Actually.

Fuck it.

She whips out her Bayard and shoots out the edge of the karambit, which slaps Lotor directly in the chest before electrocuting the heck out of him. His hood falls off, and Pidge screeches as she sees Lotor, gathering her wits just in time to grab Lance’s wrist and sprint away for dear life.

“Holy shit! Pidge!” Lance screams, cackling wildly, “that was fucking awesome!”

She’s confused. She’s stressed. She’s panicking.

That’s her later excuse for the bullshit she’s about to ask.

“Were you on a date with _Lotor_?!”

Lance chokes but keeps on running.

“No way! The dude’s just weird like that!”

 

“Guess who just fucking won at life?” Pidge says, dragging in Lance by the wrist.

“Pidge, language- motherfucking christ on a stick,” Shiro says, his jaw dropping.

Lance yanks down his mask and gives everyone a small wave.

“Hiya!”

“Lance!”

Hunk barrels in and Lance swears he must have gone unconscious for a second before he’s smothered in Hunk’s crushing embrace, his best friend whooping and hollering, swinging him around in a big ol’ circle.

“I can’t believe it, I can’t believe it!” Hunk sobs, refusing to let go of Lance even when he finally puts Lance back onto solid ground.

“I missed ya’, buddy,” Lance murmurs, all his nerves uncoiling out into loose, lanky threads within Hunk’s arms. Even as his legs go limp, Hunk doesn’t let go, just like Lance expects. He opens his eyes and blearily, gazes out at Shiro, who’s stumbling towards them, and Keith, who _still_ looks like he’s in shock.

Shiro steps in, his hands floating around Lance in disbelief. The shock passes, and he wraps his arms around Lance’s exposed shoulders for a clumsy hug.

“Don’t ever do something like that ever again,” he breathes, some of his fingers tangling up in Lance’s overgrown mop of hair.

“Do what?” Lance asks, his brow furrowed in genuine confusion.

“Get yourself killed for us.”

Lance’s head is blank, and he keeps staring at the concern on Shiro’s face, before gasping.

“Ohhhh! You mean back then! Uh…”

He sheepishly looks away, embarrassed to admit that he’s forgotten the time he nearly killed himself. He feel’s Hunk’s arms tighten around him in shock.

“I-I mean… Um… It all turned out okay in the end?”

“What?!” Hunk snaps. “You were thrown into the coliseum and, and Sendak-!”

“How the hell do you guys know that? Wait, nevermind, the bastard was messing with everyone, wasn’t he?”

Lance groans and leans deeper into Hunk, pouting.

“The guy definitely likes his mindgames. I’m surprised he didn’t let Sendak kill me though. The guy tried to rough me up, but Lotor stopped him before anything too crazy could happen. Still busted my lip though,” he grumbles, thumbing at a faint scar on his bottom lip.

“Uh…”

It’s Shiro’s turn to look sheepish.

“It looked like… more had happened.”

Lance’s face is blank as he processes the information, but red creeps up his face, and his jaw drops in horror, movement by movement, like frames played slowly.

“No! Oh god no! Oh my god he showed you guys that much?! No, he, er, he _tried_. That’s all!”

Lance’s breathing won’t slow down, and his body tenses up again.

“Th-that, I can’t – Don’t want to...”

Memories of blood and violence and claws raking at his skin while tearing off his suit resurface, and Lance curls in, resisting the urge to moan or vomit.

“Lance?!”

“I’m good, I’m good,” he mumbles, looking back up, but with weaker eyes. “Can we just… get away?”

“Ah, yes!”

Everyone rushes back into the ship, and by the time they’re far away from the planet, Lance is silently sitting in the briefing room with everyone, touching his bracelets. At some point, Keith’s settled down nearby, observing Lance as if he’s some sort of newly discovered animal species.

Or maybe that’s just how you look in general when someone you saw die with your own eyes turns out to be alive.

“Why’d you do it?” Keith blurts, to everyone’s horror.

“Wha?”

“The poison! Why’d you… Choose?”

Lance blinks a couple times, then runs his hand along the back of his neck, wincing as it slides over the metal ring.

“Can we get these off first?” he says, holding up his wrists and pulling down his collar. “I don’t wanna die twice,” he jokes with a weak smile.

 

Keith’s left hanging as they melt through the rings, and Pidge blessedly just doesn’t care when Lance whips off his pants so that they can get at the one on his thigh.

“How’d the hell they get that one on?” she asks.

“There was something in my food I think. I just woke up with these damn things on one day. You have no idea how long the neck one took to get used to,” he complains, not noticing the horror on everyone’s faces. Lance complains a lot, that’s to be expected. What they didn’t expect was that Lance complains equally about everything, no matter how messed up. A paper cut to death bracelets – it’s all the same to him.

He cheers quietly as the last one falls off, and he cracks his neck as if he’s been waiting forever to do that.

“You got them off, now answer me,” Keith says, and Lance can’t help but be taken aback by how persistent Keith can be, sometimes. He glances about at everyone, frowning, then leans in to whisper something into Keith’s ear.

“I thought that it was the most practical thing to do. Snipers are a dime a dozen compared to geniuses. Don’t tell the others. They’re just gonna get worried.”

“And I won’t?!” Keith yells. His hands clench up into fists, and when he looks directly at Lance, the boy’s taken aback. Keith’s eyes are narrowed in fury, and his teeth are clenched, but Keith’s no good at hiding his emotions like Lotor and Lance when they matter. His eyes begin to water, and he promptly stands up and stalks away.

“Huh? Uh oh…” Lance mutters with a wince as Keith leaves. He can’t be bothered to get up though.

“What did you just tell Keith?” Hunk asks, all while the others lean in. Lance squirms back.

“Um… I’d rather not. You guys would just get worried.”

“Then why’d the hell you tell Keith?!” Pidge yells, her jaw dropping. “He’s absolutely lost it the past couple months!”

“What? I figured he’d be kinda glad without me, ‘cause even I know I’m pretty damn annoying.”

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The final, FINAL chapter!
> 
> Hope you guys all enjoyed this wild ride while it lasted.
> 
> As always, I love everyone's comments, and I love all the support that was given to me over the course of this journey!


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